Struck
by MountainGirl74
Summary: As a Guardian Angel, it's Arthur's job to protect humans from harm. But when he's struck by lightning and crashes in an alleyway in NYC, it takes has-been hero Alfred Jones to get him back on his wings. While Arthur heals from his injuries, he discovers that his hero perhaps means more to him than other humans, and learns that Alfred has his own wounds to overcome.
1. Chapter 1

Dark, stormy clouds filled the sky and dropped countless gallons of rainwater on the city below. Here and there, a bolt of lightning flashed, quickly followed by a boom of thunder so loud it shook the air. In spite of the storm, humans scurried along the sidewalks with umbrellas over their heads, hoods and collars pulled up to protect against the cold. The streets were jammed with vehicles, honking at each other while their engines revved impatiently, and lights glowed from nearly every surface, only magnified by the glistening rain. The humans were unaware of the beings above who used the weather to shield their presence.

Wings fluttering and wands firmly in hand, dozens of Angels flew through the clouds in search of the humans they'd been assigned. One Angel, a male with blond hair and striking green eyes, paused in mid-air, aimed his body straight down, and closed his wings. He dropped like a stone, shooting towards the earth faster than a lightning bolt—any humans that happened to glance up would barely be able to register a blur of light.

Just before the Angel crashed into the roof of a tall apartment building, his wings sprang open and the wind caught him, slowing his descent drastically. He flapped his wings a few times and gently touched down on the roof, sandaled feet splashing in the puddles.

Ugh, if he hadn't already been soaked from the bloody storm, his wet feet would have bothered him a great deal. He hated being wet, but for now he was just going to have to deal with it. This was his last run for the night, and soon he would be able to return home, dry off, and enjoy a nice cup of tea. Maybe he'd curl up by the fire with a book to let the warmth seep back into his bones with a blanket over his legs, like he'd done before he got his wings.

With that pleasant image in mind, the Angel half walked, half flew across the roof and over the side of the building. This was when he was most vulnerable, as he slowly drifted down towards the street below, wings flapping slowly but powerfully to control the speed of his descent. His gaze was intent on the building's windows, searching for the tell-tale glow of his mark.

_Ah! There it is!_

Eager to finish, he flew to the window and touched the glowing symbol on the glass. It was invisible to humans, and was how each Angel found his or her assigned human. This particular Angel's mark was a Tudor Rose, his favorite flower, and vanished the moment he touched it. Silently but swiftly, he opened the window and entered the room beyond; a quick glance told him it was a little girl's room.

_Piece of cake._

A wave of his wand later, the Angel stood perfectly dry in his pristine white toga and leather sandals, his blond hair moving slightly as if there was a breeze. It was more than slightly annoying that in only a few minutes he was going to have to return to the storm outside, but he was glad to be dry for now. Besides, a soaked Angel wasn't nearly as impressive as a dry one, and he needed to make the best impression he could if he wanted to accomplish his assigned task.

Refocusing his thoughts, the Angel turned and examined the girl in question. She was asleep in bed, surrounded by various stuffed animals; the walls were covered by posters and drawings of flowers, fairies, angels, unicorns and other such magical beings, and an overall color scheme of pinks and white. The Angel quickly decided that he liked this kid. Anyone who loved his friends this much was definitely on his good list.

With a quiet _swish_ of his wings, he was across the room and kneeling by the girl's bed. As gently as he could, the Angel placed two fingers on the girl's temple and slipped himself into her dreams.

_Large brown eyes widened as the dream-girl looked upon the dream-Angel. They were standing in an odd-looking, empty playground, with warped equipment and strange plants. The dream-girl was obviously frightened and held a stuffed unicorn to her chest. Smiling, the dream-Angel held his hand out to her in a friendly manner._

"_Hello, Mei."_

_The dream-girl blinked. "How do you know my name?"_

"_I'm your Guardian Angel, Mei. Of course I know your name. Would you like to come play with my friends?"_

_She hesitated, glancing around the playground to see what friends he was talking about. "Who are you friends?"_

"_Come see." His hand was still extended, and Mei shyly took it. "Close your eyes," the dream-Angel whispered, and the dream-girl obediently did so. "Now open them."_

_Mei opened her eyes and gasped, amazed and awed. The warped playground had been replaced by a lush green meadow. The grass swayed in the breeze, there were trees to climb and flowers to smell, and even a pond with a small beach._

"_Where are we?" she asked, staring around as if she couldn't quite believe her eyes._

"_This is my dream-meadow. You can visit any time you want, as long as you're asleep."_

_Disappointment darkened Mei's expression. "This is only a dream?"_

_The dream-Angel chuckled. "Yes, and no. This meadow is very real, but the only way for humans like you to get here is by dreaming."_

"_Oh. Okay." She was still trying to take everything in when a soft bell-like sound came from behind them._

"_Mei, I'd like you to meet my friends."_

_They turned at the same time, and Mei covered her mouth with her hands as her eyes widened to the figurative size of dinner plates. The dream-Angel smiled, pleased by her reaction._

"_A unicorn! And fairies! I _knew _you were real!" Mei squeaked, too overwhelmed to move as her toy unicorn dangled from her grasp._

"_Go play with them," the dream-Angel urged gently. "That's why they're here."_

_Mei didn't need to be told twice. Only seconds later, she and her newfound friends were off, racing across the meadow. Their laughter—the dream-girl's giggle, the fairies' twinkling laughs and the unicorn's whinnies—made getting wet in the storm seem like a very small price to pay to help someone like that child._

_This was why the Angel loved his job._

"_Are you finished?" a quiet voice asked from near the dream-Angel's left shoulder._

"_Yes. She was my last stop. I'll be home soon." He turned and offered a smile to the flying, mint-colored bunny that had spoken, then vanished._

Opening his eyes, the Angel took his hand away from the still-sleeping girl's temple and smiled to himself. She was absolutely precious, and hopefully his intervention would be enough. But there wasn't time to speculate—his bed and a cup of tea were calling his name, so the Angel left through the window, shut it carefully, and, with a powerful stroke of his wings, shot himself up towards the angry-looking storm clouds.

Rain pelted his face and he was drenched in moments, much to his irritation. At last he was going to get to relax and—

A sudden, searing, unbearable pain struck his back and the Angel screamed; his voice was lost in a boom of thunder. Weak and disoriented, he flapped his wings hard in an effort to remain airborne, but it was no use. The pain was like nothing he'd ever felt before. It was excruciating, and every movement made it worse, until he couldn't fight it anymore and fainted, falling back towards the earth.

XXX

Hands shoved deep into his pockets and a hood pulled over his sandy blond hair, a man trudged along an empty sidewalk littered with trash and half-drowned in dirty puddles. He wore black slacks, black boots and a black jacket with a name tag that read "A. F. Jones." The word "SECURITY" was emblazoned on the back of his uniform jacket in white, alerting anyone who saw him to the fact that he was a security guard and therefore declared that Alfred Jones was not someone to mess with.

It was 5:30am and he was exhausted, but at least the rain was letting up; it was only drizzling now. Still, the gloomy weather made this part of the city even more depressing than usual, which was really saying something. Most people only thought about the bright, flashy side of New York City, but it had its low-income neighborhoods. It was in one of these poorer areas that Alfred walked. There were no other people out at this time, though he could hear a dog barking somewhere. The only reason he was up was because he'd just gotten off of work and was on his way home to sleep.

Even though he was drop-dead tired, he enjoyed these early morning walks. It was peaceful and if he timed it right he could watch the sunrise. Unfortunately, it was late October, so it was still dark out and the only light came from dim street lamps, many of which needed new bulbs. This meant that the sidewalk was shadowy, and the many narrow alleyways were perfect places for a thief to hide. But Alfred wasn't worried about getting mugged—the very visible glock on his hip would deter any potential attackers, and he could fight better than most. Besides, he wasn't carrying anything worth stealing.

He was still another ten minutes from his apartment when something odd caught his eye. There was a light in the ally ahead, sort of a soft glow that the man found very interesting. He'd never seen anything like it before.

Cautious but curious, he continued towards the alleyway and peered into what would usually be a dark, smelly space. He stared, surprised.

"What the hell?" the blond muttered, picking his way through the piles of trash. This was _not_ happening. Right? But as he stood in the alley, staring at the source of the glow, he couldn't deny what was right in front of him. He couldn't quite believe it, either.

What on earth was a guy dressed in a toga and sandals doing lying in an alley at 5:30 in the morning? Perhaps he'd been at an early Halloween party and had too much to drink. That didn't seem very likely—there'd been no parties in the area that night, otherwise there would have been a lot more evidence of it than one passed out dude. Why else would he be there, though? He was too old for a college toga party, probably in his mid-to-late twenties.

Actually, he was kind of cute.

_Dude. Not the time for that._

"Hey, dude, wake up." Alfred nudged the unconscious guy with his shoe. The man groaned and rolled from his side onto his stomach but didn't wake.

"Holy shit!" Blue eyes widening behind glasses, he stared in shock and horror at the massive wound on the strange man's back. It looked like someone had lit his toga on fire then let it burn through and melt the guy's skin, and it looked fresh. No wonder he was unconscious—no one would want to be awake with an injury like that.

Once he got over the initial panic of seeing the burn, something else caught the bespectacled man's attention. Amazed, he reached out and touched the dirty white feathers of what could only be a wing.

_Whoa, it feels so real!_

The wing was warm and the feathers were softer than he'd have thought was possible, especially considering the fact that they were wet and covered in blood and grime. Fascinated, he ran his fingers over the feathers, and the injured man shuddered as if he could feel it, which was impossible.

"Well, I can't just leave him here, I guess."

Careful of the burn and wings, he lifted the unconscious stranger and carried him out of the alley. He was surprisingly light, and Alfred had no trouble carrying him back to his apartment. Opening the door proved to be a little more difficult, but the smaller man was light enough for him to shuffle him in his arms, pull his key ring from his belt loop and open the front door. The room beyond was, for lack of a better word, plain. Off-white walls, worn gray carpet, a second-hand sofa and a desk lamp on a battered old coffee table were the only furniture in the living room. A door in the wall to the right led to the small bedroom and a half wall across from the couch partially separated the kitchen from the living room. Another door hid the apartment's only bathroom.

It wasn't much of a home, but it was enough.

Kicking the door shut behind him, the tall blond carried his rescue into the kitchen and gently laid him on the table. The wound looked even worse when he flicked on the light. It was red and angry and painful-looking—he hadn't seen anything like it since—no. He wasn't going to think about it. Not now. He had a job to do and it needed to be done quickly.

Alfred washed his hands in the kitchen sink then dried them on a paper towel before he looked at the unconscious man again. As gently as he was able, he removed the ruined toga and blushed darkly to see that the man wore nothing underneath. Other than the burn and NYC alley way filth, the pale body was flawless, and still that soft glow emanated from him. There were no straps on the wings to hold them in place, and he wondered how they were attached, but quickly forced himself to focus.

The First Aid kit he kept on top of the fridge was emptied onto the counter and he selected a bottle of burn gel, then disinfectant and gauze. The disinfectant was first, bubbling and hissing as it encountered the filth from the alleyway. It would have stung like hell if the guy had been awake, especially since Alfred was using a damp paper towel to wipe away the larger pieces of dirt. Next, he took a clean rag from a drawer, rinsed it in warm water and washed the grime from the fragile-looking body. He then carefully applied the burn gel, layering a generous amount of the green goop on the wound, and, lastly, taped a large pad of gauze over the majority of the man's back.

Satisfied with his work, Alfred washed his hands again then picked the man up once more, cradling the petite frame against his chest protectively, and took him into the bedroom. It was as plain and as sparsely furnished as the rest of the apartment, but it was clean and there was nowhere else for the man to rest until he woke. This being the case, Alfred—awkward and blushing—dressed his rescue in a pair of his own pajama pants and a soft T-shirt, both of which were much too large for the still-unconscious male. It was the best he could do for now, so he laid the man on the bed and tucked him in, then found himself brushing the golden blond hair back from the pale face.

_He looks so peaceful, like he's never seen anything bad in his life._

Alfred was a little jealous of the innocence this man seemed to possess. After the things he'd seen and done, he envied anyone who could still claim some amount of innocence. But he didn't regret anything, not really, so the jealousy faded after a few minutes and he changed out of his uniform into a pair of sweatpants and left the bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. Exhaustion was creeping up on him and he collapsed onto the couch, fully content to sleep there until his mysterious guest returned to the conscious world.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything hurt, especially his back. His whole body ached, and the pain grew stronger the closer he got to full consciousness. He felt like hell. No, he felt _human,_ like before he'd been an Angel. But that couldn't be right, and Arthur sleepily dismissed the notion that somehow he'd become human again. That was impossible. So why did he feel like he'd just wrestled with death and barely managed to escape?

Wincing, he shifted in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. It occurred to him that the mattress was too hard, and the blankets were thinner than they should have been. This wasn't his bed.

Arthur bolted upright and pain lanced down his spine, making him flinch and bite his lip. Through the tears that had formed, his green eyes examined the strange room. It was small, with plain off-white walls, sliding wooden doors leading to what was most likely the closet, a small nightstand, one bare light bulb in the ceiling, white blinds covering the only window, and the queen-sized bed he currently sat in. That was it, and everything was wrong. Where was his wardrobe, the wooden floor and rug? His books? This wasn't his room, and the Angel was beginning to feel afraid.

"Bloody hell, what happened?"

He plucked at the fabric of the shirt he wore and discovered it to be a large man's T-shirt with a comic-style illustration of Superman on it. The pants were navy with thin gray striping and were surprisingly comfortable despite also being much too big for him. A quick glance beneath the shirt told him that his toga was missing, which meant someone had undressed him. Someone had seen and touched his naked body and he had no memory of it happening.

Brilliant. As if he hadn't been uncomfortable enough without knowing that.

Feeling rather violated, Arthur pushed the blankets down and stood. He had to move slowly, but at least most of the pain had faded, except for his back. It felt like his skin had been ripped off, and he could feel something stuck between his wings. As quietly as he could, the Angel crept to the door and peeked into the room beyond.

_An apartment? How'd I get here?_ At least he wasn't being held hostage.

His gaze swept over the meager furnishings and landed on a figure sprawled on the only couch. He could hear the person breathing slowly and deduced that he or she was sleeping. That must have been whoever had brought him here and put him in the pajamas that were so unlike his own.

Curious, Arthur moved closer to the couch and looked down at the stranger. Tan skin, tousled, dusty blond hair with one little bit that stuck up funny in the front, and a strong bone structure. It was a man, probably in his late twenties and easily six feet tall. He had broad shoulders and looked fairly muscular even while dressed and partially hidden by a blanket.

_Hm. He's actually rather good-looking, for a human._

The man didn't look dangerous, so Arthur continued with his investigation of the apartment. He found nothing of interest in the kitchen, though he filched an apple from the fridge. It wasn't enough to sate his hunger, but he could wait until he knew what was going on before locating more food. The only other place to look was the bathroom.

It was small but clean, thankfully, and Arthur wasted no time in locking the door and relieving himself. He may not have been human, but that didn't mean he didn't have to put up with bodily functions. As he washed his hands, he examined his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

_I look bloody awful._

At the very least, he needed to bathe. His hair was dirty and there were traces of some unidentifiable filth on his arms and neck. That, however, would have to wait. First, he needed to find out what was wrong with his back.

It hurt, but after a few minutes he managed to get the Superman shirt off and turned so he could see his back in the mirror. A huge white bandage covered nearly his entire back, but his wings appeared to be undamaged. Gingerly, he lifted the feathery appendages and spread them, testing for bruises or broken bones. Whatever was under the bandage twinged at the movement, but his wings themselves felt fine.

Well, that was something, at least.

Reaching back, Arthur began to loosen the tape that held the bandage in place. It pulled at his skin and stung a bit, but he gritted his teeth and kept going. He had to know what was under there. Once the tape and gauze were completely removed, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. This was probably going to be on the unpleasant side of things, but he had to know.

He turned and opened his eyes.

A bloodcurdling scream interrupted Alfred's sleep and he shot to his feet, ready to fight for his life. His eyes searched every shadow for a hidden opponent and his ears strained for the tiniest sound. Slowly, the dim apartment came into focus, and he forced himself to relax. It was okay. There was no war, no enemies to defend against. He was safe in his apartment. There was no reason to be so on edge.

Still, he knew he hadn't imagined the scream, and it had been too loud to have come from outside. He could hear what sounded like crying coming from the bathroom, and slowly approached the closed door. His rescue, it appeared, had woken up.

"Hey, you okay in there?" he called, knocking on the bathroom door. The crying grew louder, and Al tried the handle; it was locked. "Dude, you okay? Open the door."

Quiet shuffling reached his ears and the lock clicked. The door opened to reveal a pale face with tear-filled green eyes staring up at him from beneath abnormally thick eyebrows.

"What did you do to me?" Arthur croaked, his throat tight as he struggled to hold back tears; he turned and pointed over his shoulder at the wound. "What the hell is this?"

Alfred frowned, though he couldn't help but notice the other man's accent—it was actually kind of cute even though he was angry. "I didn't do anything to you. You already had that burn when I found you in the alley. All I did was bring you here and patch you up."

The short man glared up at him, sniffling quietly. Clearly, he didn't believe that Alfred hadn't been the one to hurt him, and his hunched shoulders said that he expected to be attacked or yelled at.

Alfred sighed.

"Look, I found you in an alleyway while walking home from work. You were unconscious and you had that huge burn on your back, so I carried you here, cleaned you up as best and I could and bandaged the wound. That was a couple hours ago. I swear to God, that's what happened."

They stared at each other until Arthur sighed and looked away. He could tell when a person was lying, and this man was telling the truth.

"Thank you for helping me." His tone was grudging and he looked down at his still-sandaled feet, pale cheeks flushing. It wasn't like him to let his emotions get the better of him, and he'd come dangerously close to crying when he'd seen the wound in the mirror. At least his wings were fine. If he stayed focused on that, then he should be able to stay relatively calm.

The taller man smiled, revealing straight, dazzling white teeth that matched his clear blue eyes perfectly. "You're welcome. I'm Alfred, by the way." He offered one large hand, and Arthur hesitantly accepted; they shook.

"My name is Arthur."

"Nice to meet you. You're British, right? I mean, you sound like it."

"Oh, well, yes. I was British."

Past tense? What was that supposed to mean?

"So are you hungry? I can make you something to eat or I can order out or whatever."

Arthur wanted to say yes. In all honesty he was starving, but he didn't have time for that. If he'd been unconscious for the last few hours, then his friends and family must be panicking. Actually, he was a little surprised that no one had shown up to find him yet.

"Thank you for the offer, but I can't stay."

"Oh." Disappointment clouded the blue eyes. "Well, do you want to borrow some clothes? Your toga thing is in the hamper, but I don't know if you'll want it anymore. I didn't want to throw it away without asking you, but it's got a big hole in the back and it was really dirty."

Damn. Well, that wasn't too much of a disaster. If he had his wand, he could easily repair and clean the toga then heal his back and be off in no time. The only problem was that he seemed to be missing his wand, and he didn't know if Alfred had put it somewhere. Asking for it would certainly make the human curious and then he'd ask questions, and Arthur knew the tall man would feel like he deserved answers in return for saving his life. But he couldn't tell Alfred about being an Angel—humans weren't supposed to see them except for in dreams, and Arthur could get in serious trouble if he revealed too much.

Unfortunately, he didn't have much a choice.

"Alfred, did I have anything else with me when you found me?"

The taller man thought for a moment. "Not that I saw. The alley was full of trash, so I guess if you'd dropped something I could've missed it. Why, did you lose something?"

"Yes, and I need it before I can leave." Arthur moved past the man, ignoring the pain in his back, and headed for the door. He'd just turned the knob when he felt a hand on his arm, and he looked back to see Alfred's concerned expression.

"Dude, it's, like, eight in the morning, and you're shirtless. If you go out there by yourself, you'll get mugged or something. Besides, it's freezing, and you're hurt."

"I don't care. I have to find it."

Alfred let go of the shorter man and went into the bedroom, and for a moment Arthur thought that was the end of it. But then the dusty blond returned wearing glasses, shoes and a coat, and he had a second coat in his hands.

He smiled at Arthur's surprised expression. "You didn't think I was going to let you go by yourself, did you?" Careful of the wound and wings, he helped the injured man put the coat on, grabbed his keys from the coffee table, and opened the door. He was still curious about the wings, since they were still firmly in place on Arthur's back, but he didn't ask.

Grateful, Arthur nodded and followed his rescuer down the sidewalk. It was strange to see New York City from the ground level—he was much more used to the bird's eye view, and nothing looked at all familiar. How on earth did these humans find their way around? It was a good thing Alfred had decided to help him, because he would definitely have gotten lost and wouldn't even have been able to find the right alleyway, much less his wand. Everything looked so different that he had to admit the taller man was right—he'd have gotten mugged, whatever that meant.

"No, no, no, no! It has to be here!" Frantic, Arthur dug through the piles of trash in desperate search of his wand. It had to be there. It _had_ to. If he didn't have his wand, he couldn't fix his toga or heal his back, and with that wound he knew he wouldn't be able to fly. Hell, just lifting his wings made him want to cry.

If he couldn't find his wand, he'd be stuck on earth until his back healed on its own, and anyone who was looking for him wouldn't be able to find him.

"Arthur, what are you looking for, anyway?" Alfred asked as he watched the other man with a worried expression. They'd both searched the alleyway from end to end and had found nothing but garbage. Whatever the injured man had lost, it wasn't in that alley.

"My wand! The source of my power!" He was on the verge of crying again and he could feel his wings trembling beneath the coat. "Without my wand, I'm nothing, I'm a grounded Angel!"

Alfred blinked owlishly, the words sounding strange and out of place in that dirty New York alley. "You're a…what?"

Spinning around, Arthur looked up at the dusty blond with tears in his eyes. "An Angel, okay? What, you didn't see the great bloody wings on my back? I'm an Angel, and I lost my wand."

The alley was quiet as the two men stared at each other, hurt and furious green eyes drilling into surprised blue ones.

Finally, Alfred broke the silence. "Okay."

Surprise flashed across Arthur's face, followed by suspicion. "Okay? That's it? That's all you're going to say? I just told you I'm an Angel, and your only response is 'okay'?"

A tired grin spread across the tall man's face. "Well, yeah. What else would I say? You've got wings, and you're obviously not from around here. Hell, no sane man would run around in a toga and sandals at this time of year, especially without any boxers or anything. Either you're really an angel, in which case I'm obligated to help you, or you're nuts, and to be honest, I'm so tired that I don't actually give a shit which is the truth."

Arthur felt ashamed for not realizing how exhausted the blue-eyed man was. He was practically asleep on his feet and had in fact been woken by the Angel's scream, yet he'd voluntarily walked all the way back to the alley and then searched through piles of trash, all for a complete stranger.

It was people like Alfred, Arthur decided, that made humanity worth fighting for.

Sighing, the golden blond admitted defeat and straightened. "I'm sorry, Alfred. This was a waste of time—my wand isn't here, and you look exhausted. I'm very grateful for your help, but there's nothing more to do at this point. I'll have to wait for it to heal on its own. In the meantime, let's go back to your apartment so you can get some rest."

Alfred yawned widely then smiled. "Yeah, good idea."

Picking their way around the garbage, the two men left the alley and walked back to Alfred's apartment in silence. The sun was up by now and the neighborhood was starting to come to life; those people who noticed them gave Arthur's sandals strange looks but no one spoke to them. It was still early and therefore fairly quiet, but neither Alfred nor Arthur noticed. They were both ready to sleep, and by the time they reached the apartment, they were both about to collapse.

Even though he would never admit it, Arthur's wound was taking a toll on him, and he could tell that Alfred was barely managing to keep his eyes open even as he unlocked the front door. When they got inside, he shrugged out of the borrowed coat and headed for the couch, determined to sleep for the next few days, at least.

"Arthur, what are you doing?" Alfred asked, kicking his shoes off and dropping his own coat on the floor to be picked up later; he set his glasses on the coffee table.

"Going to sleep, why?"

Shaking his head, the dusty blond smiled weakly. "Don't be silly. You're not sleeping on the couch, not with that burn. Besides, what kind of man would I be if I made an angel sleep on my couch? No way. You get the bedroom. The couch is mine."

Arthur hesitated, unsure, but eventually nodded and went into the bedroom. He left the door open so that he could see Alfred lying on the couch after he'd gotten in bed, and nuzzled into the pillow. The fabric of the pillow case smelled pleasant, a scent somewhere between campfire smoke and coffee filling his nose, and he realized that it must be Alfred's own personal scent. It helped to calm him, surprisingly enough, and as he relaxed his body settled against the mattress until he was more comfortable than he would have thought possible. His back hardly hurt at all while he lay on his stomach, and he felt safe with the man who had rescued him just in the other room.

Mere minutes had passed before he heard Alfred's breathing slow significantly as the tall man fell into a deep sleep. Arthur himself was exhausted, but he did his best to stay awake a little while longer. He needed to figure out what he was going to do. Injured and without his wand he was all but helpless, yet he had Alfred, and he knew the kind-hearted human would do everything he could to help him. Still, there was no knowing how long it would take his back to heal, and he couldn't risk being seen, so he was going to have to remain inside the apartment until he was well enough to go home.

That was a depressing thought, and he disliked the idea of being so cooped up, but there were no other options. He could always contact one of his friends through his dreams and have them organize a search and rescue mission, but he didn't know where he was, so there was little point in asking them to send help. Besides, having teams of Angels scouring the city for him would be foolish and it would put countless of his fellows at risk of being discovered. No, it would be better to simply let his body heal and return home as soon as he was able. The most he could realistically accomplish through dreams was to let them know that he was safe and would be back soon.

His mind made up, Arthur let his eyes close and took a deep breath, enjoying Alfred's scent once again. It had been many, many years since he'd last spent the night on earth, and a lot had changed since then. Alfred's bed wasn't as soft as the one he had at home, but it seemed like heaven compared to the alleyway he'd apparently crashed in, and in almost no time at all he was fast asleep. More exhausted than he could ever remember being during his time as an Angel, he slept without dreaming for the first time in over one hundred years.


	3. Chapter 3

The sounds of eggs and bacon on the stove filled the small kitchen as Alfred made a mid-afternoon "breakfast" for himself and the man who was still asleep in the other room. It was strange to him, now that he was rested and fully awake, that there was an angel sleeping in his bed. A real angel. A very attractive angel. In his bed. And wearing his pajamas.

_Nope. Not thinking that. You just got out of a bad relationship, Alfred. Focus on your job so you can make enough money to get out of this shithole apartment. He's an angel—get a grip._

Behind him, the toaster dinged to signal that the bread was done, and he quickly removed it so that it wouldn't burn. Cooking was helping him keep his thoughts where they belonged, and it was nice to cook for more than just himself again. Besides, he knew Arthur was probably going to be starving when he woke, so he was making plenty of food for the both of them. Eggs, bacon, toast and orange juice, he even had toaster waffles and syrup if the injured angel was still hungry.

_He'll probably want to take a bath, too, and he'll need help because of his back._

Unbidden, an image of Arthur, naked and dripping wet as he knelt in the bathtub with his wings spread, rose in Alfred's mind, making him nearly drop the spatula he held.

"Jesus Christ!"

Immediately after the words burst out of him, he slapped a hand over his mouth and stared at the partially open door to the bedroom, worried that he might have woken his guest. He didn't hear any movement, and slowly let himself relax. Apparently, Arthur was a heavy sleeper, or he would definitely have been woken by Al's shouts, and then he'd want to know what was wrong. Somehow, he didn't think the angel would appreciate knowing that Alfred was having a really hard time thinking about him in a non-sexual way.

Alfred knew that it didn't make sense for him to think about Arthur the way he was. He'd known the man for less than a day and here he was having shower fantasies about an injured angel he barely knew. It had taken him months to view his last partner in a sexual context, though given the circumstances under which they'd met, that wasn't surprising. But the way he'd met Arthur should have made it impossible for him to be attracted to the man—what was less appealing than an unconscious, injured man lying in a dirty alleyway at 5:30 in the morning?

Still stuck on this train of thought, the sandy blond finished the eggs and bacon and set the table, making sure everything was perfect. It occurred to him that since Arthur was British he might want tea, but he didn't have any in his apartment so there was little he could do about that until the next time he went grocery shopping. He figured Arthur would appreciate the meal even though it lacked tea, and surveyed the small table with satisfaction.

_Perfect._

Sock-covered feet quiet on the carpeted floor, he approached the bedroom door and peeked in to see Arthur fast asleep, the blankets covering him up to his waist as he snuggled into Alfred's pillows. His wings were tucked neatly over his shoulder blades and his back rose and fell slowly as he breathed. The burn looked less angry than before, and Al wondered if it would heal at a faster rate than normal because Arthur wasn't human. Part of him hoped not, even though it was selfish of him. He wanted Arthur to stay—he liked the smaller man, and not just because it was easy to picture him naked. There was something about the angel's presence that made him feel at ease, though that was probably to be expected. He was an angel, after all, and angels were supposed to be symbols of peace and hope and all that. In fact, he looked like the absolute epitome of peace as he lay sleeping, and Alfred found himself not wanting to wake him and disturb that peace. However, he couldn't help but think that the food wouldn't be as good if he let it cool and reheated it later, and he knew Arthur needed to eat if he was going to heal quickly. The angel could always go back to sleep after eating, anyway, and he'd be able to sleep through the night while Alfred was at work.

His mind made up, the tall blond knocked on the doorframe quietly. "Arthur?"

The sleeping angel stirred, lifting his head slightly and looking at Alfred with bleary green eyes, his hair mussed from the pillows. "Hm?"

For a moment, Al discovered that he'd suddenly lost his voice. Arthur looked absolutely precious like that, and Alfred had to work hard to keep his mind from wandering to areas it had no business wandering to. It was impossible, however, to deny that he wouldn't mind waking up to that face every day.

"I…" He cleared his throat, embarrassed, and glanced away from the angel. "I made some breakfast, if you're hungry."

A smile graced Arthur's lips, making Al's heart flutter in a completely irrational way. "God, yes. I'm bloody starving."

Alfred smiled in return as the angel got out of bed and stretched carefully. He noticed, not for the first time, that while Arthur wasn't muscular by any means, he was nowhere near what could be called fat. His pale body was slim, almost unhealthily skinny, but in a way that made him look delicate, like a flower. Al wanted to memorize every bit of that body and forced himself to turn away and go back to the kitchen. If he didn't get a grip, things were going to go downhill extraordinarily quickly.

A few moments passed before Arthur appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, now wearing an over-sized long-sleeve shirt in addition to the baggy pajama pants, making him look even more petite than he really was.

_Damn. I didn't know grown men could be that adorable._

In an attempt to hide his thoughts, Al looked down at his plate of food. "I hope you like eggs."

"I like anything when I'm this hungry, but yes, I like eggs." There was a slightly joking tone as Arthur spoke, and Alfred chuckled.

The legs of the chair scraped quietly as the angel pulled it back from the table then sat. It was mostly quiet as the two men ate, both too focused on their food to speak. As he'd suspected, Arthur was ravenous and ate everything that was put in front of him with little discretion, though his table manners were exquisite the entire time. It made Alfred feel unrefined, since he'd never had any training in proper etiquette and Arthur seemed like he'd have been comfortable dining with the Queen of England even while wearing the American's too-big pajamas.

When at last there was no more food to eat, Alfred stood and began to gather the dirty dishes, piling them into the sink and running hot water over them.

"Do you need help cleaning up? It's the least I can do after you've been so kind to me," Arthur offered, standing by the table as if unsure of what to do next.

"I got it, thanks." The American flashed a grin as he added dish soap to the sink of water. "Besides, you're hurt, so you should rest. You can watch TV or go back to sleep or whatever."

The word "TV" made the angel perk up slightly, and Alfred chuckled.

"Have you ever watched TV?"

"No. We don't have electricity in—well, I suppose you'd call it heaven—so we don't have TV or computers or anything like that."

Alfred's jaw dropped. "No electricity? Then what do you _do?"_

Narrow shoulders rising in a shrug, Arthur wandered over to the couch and slowly lowered himself down on it. "Read. Work. Spend time with friends and family. Watch the earth. There's plenty to do—it's just not the same as what you have here."

"Oh." The warm water felt nice on his hands and helped to calm Alfred as he washed the dishes. "You said 'work.' Do you have a job?"

"Yes."

"What do you do?"

Arthur hesitated, chewing his lip as he thought. "I'm sorry, Alfred. I'm grateful for your help, really I am, but I can't tell you very much about myself or where I'm from or what I do. We have to have permission to reveal ourselves to humans, and that only happens when it's part of our job. This is a special occasion, but I still can't reveal much."

"Oh." He did his best to keep from sounding disappointed, since he'd been bursting with curiosity about angels since he'd woken up. "That's cool. I get it."

The only sound was that of swishing water as Alfred continued with the dishes. Arthur surveyed the apartment once more, taking in more detail than he had the first time. If this was to be his home until his back healed, then he wanted to get used to it as quickly as possible so that he could make the most out of his time on earth. There was no point in letting himself feel homesick, and the apartment, though clearly not the best, was well-kept and Arthur found that he could be quite comfortable there after a day or two.

"Alfred, what do you do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your job. You must work somewhere. What do you do?"

Reaching into the dirty water, Alfred pulled the plug and drained the sink. "I'm a night guard for a corporation called Katsuro Incorporated, a lab about a mile from here."

"Why did you choose to be a night guard?"

The American hesitated. There was a short answer to that question, but there was also a much longer, more complicated answer. He decided the short answer would be better. "It pays well and I don't mind the hours, plus it's close enough to walk, so I don't have to get a car or pay for a taxi."

"I see."

Even though the small man sounded genuinely interested in Alfred's life, he found himself wanting to move the topic away from himself. But if Arthur couldn't tell him anything about being an angel, then what were they supposed to talk about?

"How'd you get that burn, Arthur?" he finally asked after a few quiet minutes had gone by and he'd almost finished putting his kitchen back in order. There was no immediate answer, and he glanced to where Arthur sat on the couch to see the angel looking out the window. "Arthur?"

"I think it was the lightning."

"Angels can be struck by lightning?"

"Yes. It doesn't happen very often because of how fast we fly, but it does happen, and in a storm as big as that one was, I wouldn't be surprised if it turns out I was struck. Bloody thing hurt like hell, and there was nothing I could do about it." His voice got quiet towards the end, as if it was drowning in the memory of how helpless he'd felt in those few moments after the initial pain.

Alfred recognized that tone immediately and went into the living room; he flopped down on the recliner next to the couch and smiled at the injured man. "Dude, I'm just impressed that you're even alive. Struck by lightning, crashing in an alleyway like that, and not even a broken bone? Angels must be invincible."

That earned him a small smile.

"Not quite, but we are much tougher than humans." Turning, Arthur settled on the couch as comfortably as he could without leaning on his burn. "Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"Could we watch your TV? I'm curious as to why so many humans dedicate so much of their time to it."

His way of wording the request sounded so much like he was doing an experiment with rats that Alfred didn't risk replying for fear that he would burst out laughing. Instead, he picked up the remote and turned the TV on, flipping through the channels until he found something he thought Arthur would like. "Up and down arrows change the channel, left and right adjust the volume."

"Thank you."

It was the oddest thing, to sit in his shitty apartment watching TV with an angel he'd rescued, but Alfred didn't mind. He enjoyed seeing the small man's reactions to the various shows he discovered, and thought that he'd never be bored again as long as the angel was around. Sitting there, it was easy to pretend that it would be like this forever, even though he knew the peace that the angel brought with him wasn't going to last very long.


	4. Chapter 4

Humming softly, Arthur let his hands slowly drift through the water and watched as the bubbles floated around. Finally, he was going to rid himself of the filth still stuck to him and he wasn't going to smell like a dumpster anymore. Even better, he got to soak in a bathtub full of hot water just like he would have done at home. The tub was as full as it could get, so the water would stop just below his chest if he happened to sit up. But for now he was lounging, letting the warmth soothe his aching body and soak away the grime from the alley. Even though it was true that he didn't have any broken bones or serious injuries besides the burn, he still felt bruised, and he was tired despite having done nothing but nap and watch TV with Alfred all day.

A stray bubble caught on his wrist and he lifted his arm, looking at it closely, watching the colors move about on the dome-shaped surface. It was beautiful, and it reminded him of the sky back home, making him think about his friends and family. They were probably worried sick about him, and there he was taking a bubble bath in Alfred's bathroom like he hadn't a care in the world. He felt a little guilty, but there wasn't much he could do until he went to sleep, and he was enjoying his bath too much to rush.

Eventually, though, he had to stop lazing about and actually wash himself, so he picked up the rag Alfred had given him and soaked it in the water before carefully scrubbing himself. His face was first, then his neck and shoulders, his arms and chest then stomach, then both legs and both feet. Reaching around, he cleaned his lower back and sides but couldn't manage anything more no matter how hard he tried.

"You've got to be joking," he muttered at his reflection, a frown creasing his forehead. How was he supposed to wash his wings if he couldn't reach? Alfred had offered to help, if Arthur needed it, but the Angel's pride refused. He was a grown man and had been self-sufficient for decades—he didn't need help taking a bath.

Twisting and contorting his body in every imaginable way without causing himself too much pain, Arthur tried desperately to reach far enough to wash his back and wings. The burn was the problem—it was getting in the way, and if it hadn't been for the burn then he'd have finished several minutes ago.

This was the most embarrassing thing he'd ever had the misfortune of experiencing. He was an Angel, for sot's sake! He should be able to handle this!

"Nng! Come on! So…close…! Ah!" Pain lanced through the wound and he let his arms fall to his sides, breathing a little harder than normal as he waited for the pain to fade.

"Bloody lightning…"

He could, of course, ask Alfred for help, but Arthur thought he'd die—again—from embarrassment if he had to resort to that. The blond human had already done too much for him, and he was perfectly capable of finishing on his own. At least, he was when there wasn't a giant burn in the middle of his back.

_I can't believe I'm doing this…_

In all his years as a human and an Angel, he'd never needed help with something like this.

"Alfred?" the golden blond called, looking towards the closed door; he was still a little out of breath.

"Yeah?" the American man's voice sounded from just on the other side of the door only a moment later, and Arthur felt his already-flushed face grow warmer.

"I…uh…I need help," he mumbled in defeat, shifting onto his knees with his hands in his lap.

"What? I can't hear you."

"I need your help." He spoke louder this time and with less emotion coloring his tone so that he wouldn't sound nervous or upset. The door opened and he closed his eyes, his hands held over his most private of places to shield himself from view of the human he could hear coming into the bathroom.

_This is so embarrassing…_

He could feel Alfred's presence and knew the man was looking at him, but the tall blond had yet to say anything. It made him uncomfortable to be naked in front of the man, even though Alfred had already seen him naked once before. That really just made this even worse—at least he'd been unconscious the first time. Now he had to sit there feeling those unbelievably blue eyes drilling into his back and hope to heaven that the human wasn't judging his pale skin and thin body, wasn't thinking how weak and pathetic he had to be to ask for help.

_Don't be ridiculous. He'd never think that, and what do I care if he likes the way I look, anyway?_

"I can't reach," he said quietly after over a minute had passed, breaking the silence.

Alfred started, apparently snapping out of some sort of daze, but didn't look away from the smaller man. Embarrassed, Arthur glanced up at him just long enough to notice the man's awkward body language and the way he was shifting nervously from foot to food. It upset him more than it should have—what the hell did Alfred have to be so uncomfortable about?! At least he had his clothes on! And what the hell was he staring at with those bloody blue eyes, anyway?!

"Stop staring at me, you git, and help me so I can get dressed!" It came out harsher than he'd intended it to, and he could feel Alfred's confusion at his tone, along with a small amount of hurt. Realizing that he'd hurt the tall man's feelings by snapping at him without reason, Arthur sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to needing help."

Alfred did his best to smile. "It's cool. What do you need help with?"

Lifting a hand but still shielding his groin from view, Arthur gestured at his back. "I can't reach because of the burn."

"Got it."

Alfred wasted no time in finding a clean rag, dampening it with warm water and a little bit of soap, and kneeling by the bathtub. He kept his eyes on the rag, knowing that this was too similar to his earlier fantasy for him to handle it with any sort of composure. As gently as he could, he began to wash the fair skin around the burn and carefully wiped the burn itself to remove any fuzz from the shirt Arthur had been wearing. The dirt he'd missed earlier came away and he noticed for the first time that faint scars marred Arthur's body. Seeing the old wounds upset him—he didn't like to think that the Angel had been hurt so many times and was dealing with yet another serious injury. If it took a lightning bolt to cause a burn like the one that branched out from the center of the petite man's back, then he couldn't even imagine what it took to create the scars.

Suddenly, Arthur yelped and flinched away from Alfred's hand, curling forward so that the American couldn't see his face.

Startled blue eyes widening, Alfred drew back from the huddled form and looked for the cause of Arthur's distress. "What? What is it? Did I rub too hard on the burn?" he asked, frantic to think he'd hurt the Angel while letting his mind wander.

With his shoulders hunched up to his ears and his wings spread as wide as they could go, Arthur shook his head. He was trembling and his jaw was clenched too tightly for him to speak, but that was probably a good thing. There was no knowing what would have come out of his mouth otherwise. It wasn't pain that had made him flinch the way he had, but the reality wasn't much better.

"Arthur?" Alfred was timid as he reached out to touch the Angel's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"…fine." His voice was strained and it was difficult to force that one simple word past his teeth, but he managed to sound relatively normal.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you…"

The Angel shook his head again. The burn wasn't the problem, but now he _really_ needed to be alone, and he definitely didn't want the human behind him to know why. "Are you finished with my back?"

Alfred blinked at the question. "What? Oh, yeah, I'm done. Did you need anything else?"

"No, I can't take care of the rest. Thank you for your help."

A small smile helped to relieve some of the worry in the American's expression. "No problem. I'll be in the living room if you need anything else." He waited for Arthur to nod then left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

_That was weird. I know I didn't scrub too hard on the burn, and that didn't look like a reaction to pain._

The only thing he could think of was that his hand had brushed against the base of Arthur's right wing, and then the Angel had tensed up. That didn't really explain it, even if his wings were sore or sensitive. A tiny touch like that one had been—Al had barely even felt the feathers against his skin—shouldn't have done a thing. Besides, there was something about the way Arthur had curled up and the tone he'd used that bothered Al. It nagged at his memory, reminding him of something that he couldn't quite place. Where had he seen that before?

Stretching his muscular frame out on the couch, Alfred racked his brain for an explanation as he stared blankly at whatever commercial was currently showing on the TV. It might have been pain, but that wasn't likely, and Arthur would have said so if Al had done something that hurt. That hadn't been a reaction to being tickled, either.

The sound of the shower turning on distracted him for a moment, and he forced his mind away from thoughts of Arthur standing in the water. If he was honest with himself, Alfred had to admit that he was having almost no luck with keeping his thoughts appropriate when it came to the Angel. Even the littlest thing could be turned into a fantasy without a moment's notice, which wouldn't have been a problem if it weren't for the fact that the Angel was always less than a room away. How was he supposed to…take care of himself…if he was constantly worrying about being heard or walked in on by the object of his lust?

This was all so ridiculous that Alfred was starting to wonder if he wasn't dreaming the whole thing. Really, what were the chances that an Angel, a real Angel, just happened to be struck by lightning and just happened to crash in an alleyway in New York City, and Al just happened to find him before anyone else while walking home from work? That all seemed about as likely as Arthur ever thinking about Al the way Al thought about him.

As much as Alfred might wish otherwise, there was no way the Angel would ever be attracted to a simple human. Alfred didn't even know if Angels _were_ attracted to others in a sexual fashion and couldn't imagine what it took to arouse one. Angels were supposed to be pure and innocent, right? So even if they did become aroused, they wouldn't act on it. Hell, they might even worry they were being corrupted and try to get away from whatever was causing it. Alfred had been like that when he was younger, shying away from intimate touches and then being too embarrassed to admit that he was aroused.

And just like that, Alfred realized what Arthur had reminded him off.

_Was he…aroused?_

It seemed reasonable and impossible at the same time—maybe his back was overly sensitive because of the burn, and being touched there was arousing. On the other hand, Alfred had no idea if Angels had sex or could even become aroused in the first place. But now he remembered why the Angel's reaction had seemed so familiar. Alfred himself had done almost the exact same thing when—

_No. Don't think about it. Those days are over. Besides, there's no way Arthur would get turned on by _me,_ even if his back _is_ that stupidly sensitive. It has to be something else._

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't come up with any other explanation, and he had no intentions of asking.

"Yeah," he said aloud to himself in a sarcastic tone, "that'd be a great conversation. 'Hey, Arthur, did it make you horny when I touched your back? Cause I really wanna do you, so if it's that easy to turn you on, sex would be great.' Yeah, right. Not gonna happen, Al."

"What's not going to happen?"

Alfred sat up so quickly that he lost his balance and fell off the couch, toppling to the floor and rolling partway under the coffee table, where he curled into a ball with his face in his hands.

_Nice going, Alfred. Way to fuck that one up._

"Alfred?" Wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, Arthur leaned down and peered under the table to look at the American curiously. "Are you all right?"

"Yep." The word was muffled. "I'm fine."

"What were you saying? I only heard the last bit."

"Uh…nothing. I was just talking to myself." Relieved that the petite man hadn't heard everything, Alfred uncurled and sat up slowly, not meeting Arthur's green eyes. "Did you have any trouble finishing your bath?"

"No, but I wondered if I might borrow a new set of clothes? The pajamas you gave me are dirty, and I'm not sure I want to spend my entire stay in your sleepwear."

Right. The Angel he wanted to sleep with didn't have any clothes. "I'll get you something clean to wear. Just throw the dirty stuff by the washing machine."

Arthur nodded and went back into the bathroom to fetch the pajamas while Alfred climbed to his feet and wandered into his room and to the closet. There were plenty of clothes to choose from, but he didn't know what Arthur would like, and he couldn't focus on picking something out while his mind was still reeling from what had just happened. The fact that Arthur had almost overheard him admitting that he wanted to have sex with the Angel…it was too embarrassing. Alfred was almost ashamed of himself for daring to say it out loud. What kind of sick bastard had sex fantasies about an injured Angel, anyway?

_This sick bastard has sex fantasies about the injured Angel he rescued,_ the tall blond thought forlornly, sighing as he let himself fall back to sit on the bed. _This sick bastard needs serious help._

A quiet knock at the door drew Alfred's attention away from his mini pity party and he smiled a little. "You don't have to knock, Arthur."

The door opened and said Angel entered the bedroom, towel still firmly wrapped around his slim waist. "Did you find clean clothes?"

Lifting his hand, Alfred gestured at the open closet without looking at the other man. "Take your pick. I didn't know what you'd like, so you can just take whatever you want."

"Thank you." Curious, Arthur went to the closet and surveyed its contents. A small part of it was dedicated to what looked like uniforms, which he decided must be for Alfred's job as a night guard. There were some slacks and dress shirts, several ties and a suit, and a few pairs of shoes sat on top of a trunk on the floor of the closet. The rest of the hanging space was dedicated to T-shirts, jeans and various jackets, all of which were definitely too big for Arthur.

"What's in the trunk?"

"Hm?" Alfred stopped examining the carpet long enough to look at the trunk for a few seconds. "Uniform."

"For your job?"

"No."

Arthur glanced at the man sitting on the bed, worried by his tone. It was obvious that Alfred didn't want to talk about whatever was in the trunk, so Arthur decided to let it go even though it made him more curious. Maybe he'd take a peek while the tall man was sleeping, just to see what sort of uniform it was, but for now he needed to pick some clothes so that he could wear something other than just a towel. Eventually, he settled on a pair of jean shorts that went to past his knees and a navy blue shirt with a white star on the chest. He also found a belt hidden among the ties, which was lucky because the shorts would have fallen around his ankles within moments without a belt to hold them up.

Dropping the towel without bothering to warn the man sitting behind him, the Angel dressed in the borrowed clothing then turned so Alfred could see what he'd chosen.

"How do I look?" he asked, blushing a little.

The American smiled in return, blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses. "I'd say you look human, but you're glowing a little, so that isn't entirely true."

Arthur blinked, surprised. That wasn't something he ever expected to hear. "You can see my glow?"

"Yeah, it's how I found you in the alley in the first place. Why, is that weird?"

"No…just something for me to think about..."

Silence settled over the two men, not awkward but not entirely comfortable, either. The sounds of the TV floated in from the other room, providing background noise as they occupied themselves with their own thoughts.

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Why'd you flip out when I was washing your back?"

Oh, bugger. This was not a conversation he wanted to have, especially not after the comment about his glow. "N-no reason…"

The tall blond frowned. "Don't lie to me, Arthur. I know there are things you can't tell me about being an Angel, and I'm okay with that, but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't lie to me. If it's one of those things you can't tell me, then just say so."

For the first time in his entirety of being an Angel, Arthur felt guilty. After everything Alfred had done for him, Arthur was lying to him about something that was common knowledge among Angels and was probably something the human needed to know if Arthur was going to stay with him. Maybe he didn't need to know everything about what had happened in the bathroom, but the least Arthur could do was give him a basic explanation. He deserved that much.

"I'm sorry, Alfred," the golden blond said sincerely, standing before the bespectacled man like a child apologizing to an adult. "I won't lie to you, I promise. I 'flipped out' because Angel wings are extremely sensitive, and it startled me when you touched mine. I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to feel bad even though it was an accident. That's all, I swear."

Alfred nodded to show that he believed the smaller man. "Okay, the wings are sensitive. Got it. No problem." He grinned and stood, stretching so that his back popped quietly. "Mm…I'm gonna make some dinner. You hungry?"

"Yes, but I'd like to help you cook, if you don't mind. I feel lazy when I sit around and you do all the work, and don't try to tell me an injured Angel shouldn't do anything but rest. I'm stronger than you on my worst day even if you're at your best." There was a slight playfulness in his tone when he spoke, and he was smiling.

A laugh escaped Alfred before he could stop it, and he grinned at the shorter man. "Pffft, yeah right, Angel Boy. You were unconscious when I found you, remember? At your worst, I'm saving your haloed ass, and I was nowhere near my best when I did it."

Indignant, Arthur crossed his arms over his narrow chest and huffed. "My backside isn't haloed, Alfred, and, I think you'll notice, neither is my head. As a human, you can't possibly hope to match me in strength, speed, or intelligence."

"Whoa, someone's got an ego the size of New York," Alfred teased as he left the bedroom, looking back at Arthur over his shoulder. "No wonder you don't have a halo—your head's too big for one."

"My head is a perfectly normal size!" Arthur snapped, following the taller blond into the kitchen. "And if you must know, an Angel only has his or her halo if he or she also has his or her wand!"

"Which you lost," the American pointed out, "when you were struck by lightning. What were you doing, flying too close to the clouds?"

A red tint colored Arthur's pale cheeks as his green eyes glared at the tall human. "I was trying to go home! I'd been working all night, and all I wanted was to go home, have a bath and some tea, and go to bed." His tone softened and he lowered his gaze from Alfred's grinning face. "Now I'm stuck on earth, I lost my wand, I'm hurt, and I can't even fly. No one knows where I am, either." Turning, he left the kitchen and went to the couch, curling up on a corner of it.

Alfred watched him with concern, worried that his teasing had gone too far. Maybe blaming the Angel for getting hurt was uncalled for, but it had slipped out before Alfred could stop himself. It hadn't been his intention to upset the petite man, and yet it seemed he'd managed to with little to no effort.

"Hey, Arthur, you sure you're okay?"

"Yes…I'm fine…"

Worried blue eyes never leaving the figure on the couch, Alfred began to move about the kitchen and gathered everything he would need to make dinner. He thought spaghetti would be a good idea, since it would leave plenty of leftovers to have for lunch tomorrow, and it was easy to make and clean up from, so he wouldn't have to rush to get to work on time.

As much as it pained him, he knew he'd have to dress and leave soon, and that meant leaving Arthur alone in his apartment for several hours. Even though the Angel would probably just sleep the entire time he was gone, Alfred didn't like the idea of leaving him alone, especially in a neighborhood like the one he lived in, though he personally hadn't had any trouble yet. The thought of someone breaking into his apartment while Arthur was there, alone and injured, was terrifying. If something happened to him, Alfred would never forgive himself.

"Arthur?"

"Yes, Alfred?" The petite blond still hadn't moved from his spot on the couch.

"I have to leave for work at about eight, and I won't be back until almost six tomorrow morning. Will you be okay here by yourself?" he asked, trying to sound casual while he put a pot of water on the stove and set it to boil.

"Yes, I'll be fine. You don't have to worry about anyone hurting me."

"I wasn't—"

"Alfred, I'm an Angel. I could feel your concern, and I understand why you are worried, but I promise I'll be fine. Remember, on my worst day, I'm stronger than a human at his best." He offered the man in the kitchen a weak smile. "Besides, technically, I'm already dead, so it's not as if anyone could kill me."

The word surprised Alfred so much that he stopped what he was doing right in the middle of pouring the spaghetti sauce into the pan. "What do you mean, you're technically dead? Angels aren't like zombies, are they?"

Arthur laughed a little. "No, we're not like zombies. But you've heard that good people go to heaven and become angels when they die, and bad people go to hell and become demons. That's pretty close to the truth."

"Oh. Cool." He wanted to ask the pale man how he'd died, but he had the feeling that such a question wouldn't be well-received, so he kept his curiosity to himself. Besides, asking someone how they died was too depressing of a topic to have at dinner.


	5. Chapter 5

"You're sure you'll be okay?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, leaning against the door frame as Alfred finished buttoning up the black shirt of his uniform.

"Yes, I'm sure. The door will be locked and I know how to protect myself. You really don't have to worry about me so much. Besides, I'll be asleep the entire time you're gone."

Alfred smiled and pulled on his jacket. "You're right, I'm sorry. Feel free to watch TV or read my books or whatever, and there's plenty of food in the kitchen if you want a snack," he said over his shoulder as he moved from the bedroom to the living room. Snatching his keys off the coffee table, he quickly checked to make sure he had everything he needed then smiled at the Angel. "I'll try to be quiet when I get back."

Without thinking, he stepped forward, placing his hand on the shorter man's cheek, and kissed his forehead. "Sweet dreams, Artie." Both men instantly froze, Arthur's eyes wide with shock as he stared at the face barely an inch from his own. A dark red blush quickly spread over his pale cheeks, mirrored by the one on Alfred's tanned face, then the taller of the two quickly backed away and left the apartment without another word.

Several moments passed before Arthur found himself able to move, and then he darted to the window to watch Alfred walk away down the dark street. He stayed there until the tall blond was no longer in sight, and then he settled onto the couch with his legs crossed under him and his chin in his hand.

"What the bloody hell was that all about…?"

The kiss had been out of nowhere and he hadn't even had time to react before Alfred was gone. His face was still red with the blush, and he could almost feel the warmth of the other man's hand on his cheek as if it was still there. This was all so strange—he didn't know what to think, or what to do. Really, what could he do? He wasn't angry about it, or embarrassed, and he'd felt the waves of affection coming off of Alfred well enough to know that it had been an innocent enough gesture. Not only that, but the look on the human's face had been just as shocked as Arthur knew his own must have been.

For nearly fifteen minutes, he sat on the couch without moving, his mind spinning as it tried to make sense of what had just happened. When it occurred to him that there was one person who could offer him some useful advice, he all but flew off the couch and into the bedroom, though he felt painfully slow without the use of his wings. There he hurried to change into a clean pair of soft shorts and climbed into Alfred's bed. It still smelled amazing, just like the man himself, and once he was lying on his stomach with the blanket covering his legs and lower back, he had no trouble nuzzling into the pillows and relaxing completely. After that it was only a matter of closing his eyes and drifting to sleep.

_His meadow greeted him the moment he abandoned his conscious mind. It was empty aside from him, but that was to be expected. There were countless meadows like the one he'd given to Mei, but this particular one was just for him. He stood on a rise by a large oak tree, surrounded by rolling hills with fog in the low places and a misty forest in the distance. The grass was almost as high as his waist, and he ran his fingers over the thin stalks, smiling fondly. Soft birdsong drifted through the air, reminding him of the home he'd had before the home he had now._

_Normally, he used this meadow to relax and enjoy a little piece and quiet. Tonight, he let his mind expand and wander until he felt the presence of another drifting dream-Angel, and then he gently pulled the entity into his meadow until a short dream-Angel with pale blond hair and pale bluish gray eyes stood before him._

"_Tiino."_

_Startled, shorter dream-Angel, who was little more than a boy, really, lifted his slightly round face to meet Arthur's gaze. His face brightened with a smile when he recognized the other._

"_Arthur! You're okay!" Tiino threw his arms around the green-eyed dream-Angel and hugged him tightly, his wings fluttering in his excitement._

_Smiling, Arthur returned the hug before gently pushing Tiino away and looking into his eyes intently. "I need a favor."_

"_Anything!"_

"_Find Romulus. I need to speak with him."_

_Tiino's smile was instantly replaced by a more serious expression. "Of course, Arthur, though you're not really dressed to see him, if you ask me." Then he vanished, and Arthur knew that the other Angel had woken up and gone to find Romulus, as he'd requested. There was no telling how long he would have to wait to see the Angel he'd asked for, so Arthur contented himself to stretch out on a patch of clover under the tree and watch the clouds._

_It was a perfect day, as it always was in his meadow. The sky was a pale blue with wispy gray clouds floating about, forming shapes then losing them. A gentle breeze made the grass sway and ruffled his hair, pleasantly cool against his bare skin. It was so peaceful that he'd have fallen asleep if he hadn't already been dreaming. After a while, he let his eyes fall closed and sighed deeply, content in his meadow in a way he wasn't anywhere else._

"_Arthur." Someone touched his shoulder, and the resting dream-Angel opened his eyes to see a tall, broad-shouldered dream-Angel with wavy brown hair down to his chin and a kind smile kneeling beside him._

_Sitting up, Arthur managed a respectful half-bow. "Romulus."_

_The brunet dream-Angel laughed and promptly settled into the grass, his brown-and-gold robes spread around him. "There's no need to be so formal, Arthur. This is your meadow, not the Council Hall. Besides, you're hardly dressed for that."_

_Tiino had said nearly the same thing, but Arthur hadn't given it much thought. Now, because Romulus had mentioned it, he lowered his gaze to himself and immediately flushed a bright red—he was naked except for the shorts he'd borrowed from Alfred!_

"_Bloody hell," he cursed under his breath as he wrapped his arms around his narrow chest, embarrassed to be so exposed in front of the other dream-Angel. "I'm sorry, Romulus. I'm not decent."_

_Laughing again, Romulus patted his red-faced companion's shoulder. "It's nothing to apologize for, Arthur, though I am curious. What happened to your toga?"_

"_It's a long story."_

"_I'd say so, but your friends made me promise to ask you how you are. They've been very worried about you."_

"_I am…well. All things considered." There was a heaviness in his tone that he knew Romulus would pick up on, and he wasn't at all surprised when the brunet lifted his hand._

"_May I?"_

_Arthur nodded his consent, and the two dream-Angels turned to face each other on that little patch of clover, the breeze swirling around them._

"_There are a few things you will see that I wish to ask your opinion on," Arthur said quietly._

"_Of course." Smiling gently, Romulus placed two of his fingers on Arthur's forehead, the dark olive color of his skin emphasized next to the other's pale face. They both closed their eyes as their minds linked, and Romulus found himself viewing Arthur's memories as though he was living them._

_It was amusing to feel the blond's emotions, especially his annoyance at the rain and his eagerness to return home. The memory of Mei brought a smile to his lips—it was so pleasing to see what a difference Angels could make if they were given the chance. Soon it was back out into the rain, relief at being finished and ponderings of tea before bedding filling his thoughts. So suddenly that Romulus flinched, he felt the searing pain in Arthurs back, a pain stronger than any Angel should ever have to experience. He felt his body growing weak and falling, and then the blackness that meant Arthur had fallen unconscious. A few small shudders passed through him, and he had a vague awareness of someone else's presence, but that was all._

_Finally, the darkness lifted, only to be replaced by aches and a pain so intense he could hardly move. Pity swelled within Romulus' heart but he held it away from the link—he knew very well that Arthur would never want to be pitied. Slowly, the pain faded but didn't vanish completely, and then there was confusion and fear, curiosity that drove him to action._

_Through Arthur, Romulus explored the small apartment, shared in his horror at discovering the burn between his wings and met the human who had saved him. The search for Arthur's wand was almost comical despite the frantic emotions attached to the memory, as was the discovery of the television. He found Arthur's memory of the bath interesting, especially Arthur's guilt for enjoying it and his embarrassment at having to ask the human—Alfred—for help. The moment when he felt a touch on Arthur's wing made him gasp, and the trembling in Arthur's body extended to his own. Still, he was impressed with how calmly Arthur handled it._

_The memory grew fuzzy for a few moments as Arthur consciously skipped forward, and then Romulus was in the bedroom again, dressing in the borrowed human clothes just as Arthur had done. He laughed at the memory of turning to ask for Alfred's opinion on how he looked. It was Alfred's comment about seeing Arthur's glow that caught his attention the most, however. The implications behind such simple words were immense, and Romulus knew right away that it was one of the things Arthur wished to discuss._

_His vision blurred as Arthur skipped ahead again, then he very, very clearly saw the human man come close, felt the warmth of a hand on his cheek and the soft touch of lips on his forehead, sensed Alfred's surprise and embarrassment mixing with Arthur's. To Romulus' surprise, there was no flustered anger or irritation attached to the memory—displays of affection weren't generally welcomed by the green-eyed Angel, yet he hadn't minded the kiss._

_The last of Arthur's memories was watching Alfred walk away, then the link was broken and the two dream-Angels opened their eyes. Arthur looked expectantly at the older dream-Angel, hoping to hear some reassurance or explanation._

_As he considered everything that had just been shown to him, Romulus plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between his fingers._

"_I believe I can put at least one of your worries to rest," he said at last, and the other dream-Angel sat up straighter._

"_You can?"_

_Romulus nodded, examining the bit of grass. "Your wand was discovered on a rooftop, and when you were nowhere to be found, it was taken to your dwelling to await your return. It is undamaged, and was cleaned by some of your friends."_

_Relief flooded Arthur to know that his wand was safe and not in the hands of a human who might have stumbled upon it. "Thank you. I was afraid it was lost for good."_

"_Yes, though I'm sorry to admit that no one realized you were missing until several hours after your wand was found."_

_That was no surprise to the blond—it was fairly common for him to sleep late into the day after a night of work, and no one would have bothered him until the next afternoon. "No, I should have contacted you sooner."_

"_Judging by what you just showed me, I'd say you waited for your best opportunity. Now, other than the wand, which parts did you wish to speak with me about?"_

_An embarrassed blush crept onto Arthur's cheeks. "The human who saved me. Alfred."_

"_What about him? He seems kind, and I am grateful for his help to you."_

"_He is very kind, and I will never be able to thank him enough, but there is something about him that I can't quite place. Why is it that he can see my glow? I thought only Angels could see it."_

"_Yes, that is usually the case," Romulus mused, abandoning his blade of grass and choosing a clover instead._

"_Usually?" the blond pressed, not liking at all the way his chest tightened when he tried to consider what that might mean._

"_There are rare humans capable of seeing an Angel's glow. It's supposed to mean the human's heart is pure even after temptation and trial." Romulus looked up at the sky, letting the clover fall from his hand. "You'll have to learn more about him if you wish to discover why he can see yours. I'm afraid that's all the advice I can give on that particular question."_

_That wasn't nearly as much as he'd been hoping for, but Arthur knew better than to push Romulus. "Thank you."_

"_Was there anything else?"_

"_I wondered if perhaps you might have a guess as to why he kissed me."_

"_Please, Arthur, you can hardly call _that_ a kiss," Romulus replied, his tone surprising the blond dream-Angel. "That was a peck, nothing more than a sign of his affection for you. If I had to guess, I would say he simply enjoys your company, which I'm sure you've noticed is true. Why, did it displease you?"_

"_No, I was just surprised. And yes, I have. He seems very lonely." As much as he wanted to ask just what exactly was considered to be a real kiss, Arthur let it drop. "The last thing I wanted to ask about is my back. How long will it take to heal?"_

_Romulus shrugged. "An earth week, perhaps a little more. This Alfred is doing a wonderful job caring for you, so I wouldn't be surprised if you were fully recovered in just a few earth days."_

_Ah, good news at last! "Then I will return as soon as I'm able. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me. Your advice is greatly appreciated."_

_A smile that must have melted hearts when he was a human spread over the brunet dream-Angel's face. "Of course, Arthur. I'm glad you're doing well, and I'll pass it on to your friends that you'll be returning to us soon. Unfortunately, I have business to attend to, so I must leave you." His tone and expression were both reluctant, and Arthur had to remind himself once again that while Romulus was powerful and wise, he much preferred to relax than to work. Perhaps that was why he'd been put in charge—he worked for others regardless of his own desires._

_Both dream-Angels stood and bowed to one another._

"_Thank you, Romulus. Good bye."_

"_Don't hesitate to ask for me again should you need anything else." The brunet waved once then vanished, leaving Arthur alone in the meadow._

_He stood there, looking out over the dips and rises as he considered what Romulus had said. While he was relieved that his back would soon be healed, he couldn't help but think that a few days wasn't nearly long enough to get to know Alfred well enough to understand why the human could see his glow. Or to figure out what counted as a "real kiss."_

"_Oh, come off it, Arthur. He probably just meant that it was the sort of kiss an adult gives a child or something equally innocent," he said out loud since there was no chance of being overheard. "Besides, how would you go about discovering what he considers a real kiss? You're not going to kiss Alfred, that's for sure. Though if he keeps doing things out of the blue like that, he might kiss you."_

_Arthur paused, surprised to hear those words come out of his own mouth. "What am I even saying? Alfred isn't going to kiss me, and I'm not going to kiss him, and that's that."_

_Suddenly no longer content in the meadow, the blond began to return to the conscious world._

The moment he opened his eyes, Arthur knew it had been only a few hours since he'd fallen asleep. It wasn't nearly enough for him to feel fully awake, but he felt restless and was out of bed a moment later, pacing the small bedroom with his hands held behind his back.

None of this made sense, and talking to Romulus hadn't helped as much as he'd been hoping it would. Even without worrying about his wand and knowing his back was healing, his thoughts and emotions were in turmoil. He liked Alfred—there, he admitted it, even it was only to himself, but that was just it. No matter how many times he admitted he genuinely liked and cared for the human, he would never be able to say it out loud.

That had always been his problem, the inability to express affection even to those who truly deserved it. And while Alfred cooked for him and let him sleep in his bed and nursed his back and kissed his forehead and smiled at him like he was the center of his universe and all-in-all made Arthur feel rather special, he'd never be able to make Alfred feel that way. He couldn't. Playful banter was fine, watching TV together was fine and eating dinner and cleaning up and talking were all fine. Being friends was perfectly acceptable and Arthur had no trouble at all with showing it if he was friends with someone. But Alfred treated him better than just that, and Arthur was ashamed to know that no matter what the human did, he'd never get the thanks he deserved.

"You're a git, Arthur Kirkland. A bloody wanker who can't even smile when someone kisses your forehead or gives you a nickname so cute it's disgusting. It's amazing you were ever chosen to be an Angel."

As much as he hated himself for it, and wished he could be more open about how he felt, he knew everything he'd just said about himself was true. He was cold and callus and short-tempered when he should be warm and inviting and friendly. Even now, when what he wanted the most was to thank Alfred for everything he'd done and make it up to him somehow, the thought of actually doing so got stuck somewhere and all he could think about was that Alfred might laugh at him or not care at all or ridicule him for being grateful, or perhaps demand more in payment for his help.

"No, he's not like that. Alfred's kind and generous and warm. He'd make a great Angel. You're an awful bloody git for thinking he'd be that nasty and greedy," he told himself, then turned to sit on the bed—his gaze landed on the trunk in the closet, the one that contained the mysterious uniform Alfred hadn't wanted to tell him about.

Curiosity exploded in Arthur's body, making his fingers tingle. He wanted to know what was in the trunk, but he didn't want to betray Alfred's trust by looking without permission. Several minutes passed as he battled with himself, until eventually he couldn't take it anymore. Just a peek. One little peek wouldn't hurt anything.

Kneeling in front of the trunk, he opened the two latches and lifted the heavy lid, peering into the shadowy confines. Something glittered in the low light, attracting his attention, and he reached into the trunk to touch neatly folded fabric with bits of metal on it. Arthur's curiosity quickly got the better of him and he opened the trunk all the way so that the light could reach whatever it was that he'd touched, and his eyes widened.

Lying folded in the bottom of the trunk was a uniform decorated with medals and little bars of different stripes of color. It had a distinctively military feel to it, and beneath the first uniform he could see a second one with camo print that was in worse condition but obviously just as well cared for. In the corner of the trunk was a little black velvet box that drew Arthur's gaze like a magnet. He didn't even hesitate before picking it up and opening it. Nestled inside was yet another medal, though the medallion hanging from this one was in the shape of a heart, and it was purple.

"He's a veteran."

It seemed so obvious, now that he said it out loud. How Alfred knew how to treat his wound, why he was so self-efficient and surprisingly neat for a bachelor living on his own. Military training didn't go away just because a soldier moved on after the battle—it just became useful in other aspects of life. And little wonder the human hadn't wanted to discuss what he kept in the trunk. No doubt his memories of the military were far from pleasant, and the uniform didn't look that old, so he must have only recently been discharged.

Gently, Arthur closed the box and placed it back in the trunk, then shut the lid and returned everything in the closet to its proper place. He felt guilty for looking without permission, but he didn't regret it. Rather, he was curious about Alfred's time in the military, but knew he couldn't ask without upsetting the tall blond, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

One thing was for sure, he was definitely going to pay closer attention to the human than he had been.


	6. Chapter 6

His footsteps were the only sound, echoing down the long hallway and back, and he absently pushed his glasses farther up his nose only to have them slide back down to where they'd been. Alfred didn't even notice. He was too busy thinking about everything that had happened that day.

_I can't believe there's an Angel sleeping in my apartment right now._

It seemed so unreal, now that he was at work rather than back home with Arthur in just the next room where Al could see him any time he wanted. He wondered idly if the petite blond had gone to bed already or if he'd decided to stay up and watch more TV. The thought of him curled up on the couch watching late-night cop dramas or terrible scifi movies with even worse graphics made Alfred chuckle, and he imagined how adorable the Angel would look if he fell asleep on the couch and Al found him there when he got home in the morning. He would shut the TV off and carry the smaller man into the bedroom and tuck him in, and part of Alfred desperately wanted that experience even though he knew it wasn't altogether likely. So far, Arthur seemed like the mature type of person who would go to bed relatively early, and he was still so tired from his ordeal that Alfred was a little impressed he hadn't slept even more than the nap the Angel had taken.

It occurred to the American then that he might want to wash his bed sheets some time tomorrow, considering that Arthur was hurt and clean sheets were definitely better for recovering from a wound than dirty sheets were. Though he supposed his sheets weren't all that dirty—he himself showered every day and never took food into the bedroom, so there wasn't much chance that his sheets needed to be washed. Regardless, he would ask Arthur what he preferred and decide based on the Angel's response. The thought almost made him laugh.

_I'm going to go home and ask my new friend the Angel if he wants me to wash my sheets. If anyone else could hear my thoughts, they'd think I'd lost it._

He had to admit, he even sounded a little crazy to himself. No matter how calm he'd been around the Angel so far, internally, he was still partially awestruck by the fact that Angels even existed, and even more so that he actually knew one and was sharing his apartment with one. It was just all so sudden, and it had happened so fast that he'd accepted it without hesitation just to be able to keep up. That, and he didn't want to freak out in front of Arthur and make a total idiot of himself. Not that now was an opportune time to freak out, either.

At that particular moment, Alfred was walking next to a ten-foot-high chain link fence, a flash light in his hand and security lights mounted on the fence every twenty or so feet lighting his way. It was around midnight, so it seemed as if he was the only living thing in the world, save for the bugs that swirled lazily around the lights overhead. Still, he didn't allow himself to relax. It was his job to guard Mr. Honda's property, and Alfred had no intentions of letting his boss down. He remained fully alert and attentive as he finished walking the fence and made his way back inside the large white building.

"All clear," the tall man announced as he walked into the security office, and a pair of green eyes looked at him from beneath chocolate brown bangs, accompanied by a small smile.

"_Bueno__,"_ he responded, slipping into Spanish almost without meaning to. "The others aren't back yet."

Alfred nodded and went to the small round table that was one of the few pieces of furniture in the office—the rest consisted of a fridge full of bottled waters, pop and frozen meals, a microwave, a worn out old couch, and the desk where the green-eyed man sat watching the wall of monitors. Four chairs were arranged around the table, and playing cards lay waiting for their owners to return and continue the game of poker that had been paused so the players could make their rounds. With a sigh, Al dropped into his chair and let his eyes close, leaning back comfortably while he waited for the others.

It wasn't long before the door opened and two more men walked in. One was short and rather skinny with brown hair and an untamable curl that almost seemed to have a mind of its own, and eyes that rarely appeared to be open. The other man was even taller than Alfred and broad-shouldered with pale blue eyes and slicked back blond hair beneath his black cap.

"Any trouble?" the man at the desk asked, turning in his swivel chair to face the newcomers.

"Ve~nope!" Smiling happily, the shorter of the two practically skipped over to the table and sat, wriggling excitedly in his chair. "Can we keep playing now, Ludwig?" he asked hopefully in what could only be described as the most adorable Italian accent in existence.

"Not yet, Feliciano," the blond man responded in a thick German accent as he calmly resumed his own seat. "Your brother isn't back from his rounds."

Feliciano pouted for a moment, unhappy with having to wait, and Alfred and Ludwig shared a knowing look.

"Cheer up, Feli," Alfred comforted him, grinning slightly. "As soon as Lovino gets back, we'll get to watch him lose and throw another tantrum."

That comment made the brunet giggle, and even the man watching the monitors let out a laugh. They both fell silent, however, when the door opened and a man almost identical to Feliciano walked in, the only differences being that his hair was a darker shade of brown and his own wild curl was on the other side of his head. That, and his eyes actually looked like they were open, revealing them to be brown.

"Everything's fine in my sector, Antonio," he told the green-eyed man; his voice was a bit deeper than Feliciano's but had the same tell-tale accent, and it was clear that his brother was the much happier of the two.

"Eso es bueno, Lovi," Antonio replied, smiling fondly at the moody Italian—a slight blush darkened Lovino's cheeks at the nickname and he looked away from the Spaniard, quickly joining the other three men at the table and snatching up his cards.

"You better not have cheated while I was gone, bastards," he muttered, not making eye contact with any of them.

"Ve…of course not, Lovi!" Feliciano chirped, picking up his own cards as Alfred and Ludwig did the same.

The blush on Lovino's cheeks darkened. "Don't call me that, damn it!" he snapped, earning a confused expression from his brother and amused looks from the others. Before anyone had a chance to respond, he pushed a few of his plastic poker chips into the middle of the table and looked at Alfred pointedly in a silent demand that the game continue as if there had been no interruption.

Grinning, Alfred added some of his own chips to the pile. It was always funny to watch Lovino become flustered and agitated at simple things like Antonio calling him "Lovi," but right now it only reminded him that he'd accidentally called Arthur "Artie" as he was about to leave. And then he'd gone and kissed the Angel's forehead as if they'd known each other for years instead of less than twenty-four hours.

_Why the hell did I do that? _he thought, staring at the cards in his hand without really seeing them. _First I check him out—he's attractive, whatever—but then I start having sex fantasies about him like he's a star in a porno and I'm a horny fucking teenager. I could have handled that, though. Those daydreams didn't have to leave my head or lead to anything. But then I _kissed _him! It was just a little peck on the forehead, but still. Lip-to-skin contact did not ever need to happen. Contact involving lips is unnecessary, period!_

Without even pausing to consider, Alfred added more chips to the pile when it was his turn, his thoughts still as far away from the game of poker as they could get.

_Seriously, Alfred, you need to get your shit together before you go home, or something even worse is going to happen._

Just like that, he imagined finding the Angel asleep on the couch with the TV remote still in his hand and the TV playing some late night commercial, imagined turning off the TV and picking Arthur up, carrying him into the bedroom and tucking him into the bed. Kissing his forehead again, since there couldn't possibly be any harm in kissing a sleeping man's forehead, then pulling away to see those impossibly green eyes looking up at him sleepily. His lips would be parted slightly, and he'd turn onto his back, making a small sound of discomfort because of the burn. Then Alfred imagined kissing him, _really_ kissing him, until they were both breathless and he'd somehow ended up on the bed beside the Angel, holding him close.

_I bet his kisses taste like tea,_ he decided, then paused. _You are definitely going to hell, Alfred F. Jones. There's no doubt about it—your soul is condemned to burn for eternity for wanting to have sex with an Angel._

"Alfred?" Someone touched his arm, startling him out of his grim train of thought, and he blinked a few times when he realized the four other men in the room were staring at him.

"What?"

"Are you all right, _il mio amico__?"_ Feliciano asked, concern making him fall back into his native language.

"Yeah, I'm totally fine. Why?" Shit, had they noticed him daydreaming? They couldn't possibly have any idea what he'd been thinking about. At least, he hoped not. There was nothing he could imagine that would be more embarrassing than his coworkers finding out that he was having sex fantasies about an Angel with green eyes and a British accent.

_That accent of his is too damn adorable. Everything about him is too god damn adorable._

Forcefully, Alfred derailed the train his thoughts had taken before they could go beyond his control and start into another fantasy. He was at work, for god's sake! He needed to focus on his job!

"You were making a funny face," Feli explained in response to the bespectacled man's question, a cute frown creasing his forehead, "and you didn't respond when Lovino tried to talk to you."

"Oh." Had he really been that distracted? "I'm sorry, Lovino. I guess I was just spacing out."

The moody Italian rolled his eyes. "Like that fat head of yours is capable of doing anything else, _bastardo__."_

"Lovi!" Antonio interrupted, turning astonished green eyes on the Italian man. "That was uncalled for, _mi __querido__,"_ he admonished gently, trying to catch Lovino's eye without success, his usual smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he did his best to frown in disapproval.

Blushing again, Lovino rolled his eyes and sneered in an attempt to cover it up. "Either fold or bet so we can keep playing."

Ignoring the insult, Al looked down at his cards—he had a fairly good hand, but he wasn't sure if it was good enough to bet on. A glance around the table didn't do much to help him decide—Feliciano had a terrible poker face, but his almost constant happy-yet-sleepy expression made it hard for the American to figure out if the Italian had a good hand or not. In contrast, Ludwig's poker face was completely unreadable and Lovino had the same sulking frown as always. Antonio, of course, wasn't playing—he never did, since he was in charge of watching the monitors and rarely turned his gaze away from them.

Alfred decided to try his luck and added a few chips to the growing pile in the center of the table. Hell, if he'd been lucky enough to find Arthur in that alleyway, then he should have enough luck to win a measly game of poker.

XXX

_This is it. Twenty-four hours ago, I found an unconscious Angel in this alley._

Quiet, Alfred stood in front of the exact alleyway where he'd discovered Arthur. It looked basically the same, though perhaps it was a little messier after being scoured by him and the Angel while they'd searched it for the missing wand. He was only a few more minutes from home, and his tired body wanted desperately to collapse onto the couch and sleep for the next several hours, but he hesitated.

What if Arthur really was asleep on the couch, and Alfred really did take him into the bedroom and tuck him in? What if he couldn't help himself and his daydream about kissing the petite man came true? Arthur would never forgive him, and Alfred hated the idea of the Angel being upset with him. So he lingered by the mouth of the alley, stalling for time.

Eventually, though, his body's fatigue won out and he trudged the rest of the way home, his hands in his pockets and his hood pulled up just like the morning before.

When he walked into his apartment, the first place his eyes went was to the couch. It was empty, and Alfred wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved. On the one hand, he was glad Arthur was sleeping comfortably in the bed and wouldn't be disturbed by his return. On the other, he'd partially hoped he'd get to tuck the Angel in, as ridiculous as it was for him to want to tuck a full-grown man into bed, especially considering that full-grown man was an Angel and was probably way older than Alfred himself was—he was only 26 years old, after all, and Arthur's physical appearance was at least that old.

Dropping his keys on the coffee table, Alfred took off his utility belt and put it up on the shelf in the closet by the front door, making sure the hand gun was secure in its holster as he did so. Then he kicked off his shoes and sneaked into the bedroom to grab a clean change of boxers and his pajamas. Like a magnet, his gaze was drawn to the still form on the bed, and he quickly found himself transfixed.

Arthur was sound asleep, his arms wrapped around one of Alfred's pillows as he snuggled into the soft material, the blankets covering his legs and lower back. His wings were only partially folded, draping over his sides and onto the bed as gracefully as anything Alfred had ever seen. The burn between the Angel's pale shoulder blades was less agitated now, though it would be a few more days before it had made significant progress towards healing.

Without even meaning to, Alfred reached out to touch one of those impossibly soft wings and realized it just in time to stop himself. Arthur had already told him that Angel wings were sensitive—he didn't want to risk waking the man just because he wanted to touch one. Keeping his eyes away from the sleeping Angel, the tall man gathered what he'd come for and left the bedroom just as quietly as he'd entered it.

Moments later he was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, his pajamas beside him on the counter. All he wanted right at that moment was to shower then go to sleep, and his couch had never looked so inviting in all the time he'd owned it. As quickly as he could, he stripped out of his black security uniform and turned the shower on, then waited impatiently for the water to heat up.

Unbidden, his mind conjured up the memory of Arthur kneeling in the tub as he took a bath, his cheeks pink with embarrassment at having to ask for help washing his back. For a moment, Alfred considered taking a cold shower just to force himself to stop thinking such perverted thoughts about the Angel in the next room, but he decided against it. A cold shower would wake him up too much, and then it'd take him longer to fall asleep, which he definitely didn't want.

_You're going to have to learn to control your thoughts better, Al,_ he told himself as he stepped into the shower and let the hot water drench him.

It relaxed him completely, and he lazily picked up his bottle of shampoo and washed his hair, enjoying the woodsy scent. Then he poured a bit of body was onto a damp rag and scrubbed himself all over, making sure not to miss a single square inch of his skin. Only once he was sure he'd sufficiently cleaned himself did he rinse the rag then move directly under the spray of water, letting it wash the shampoo from his hair and the soap suds from his body.

The air outside the shower was painfully cold when he stepped back out onto the thin rug that was the only thing separating him from the bathroom's tile floor, but he didn't let it slow him down. Hurrying now just to be able to sleep sooner, he pulled a towel from where it hung on the wall and dried off, rubbing as much of the water out of his hair as he could. Then he dressed, his comfortable cotton pajamas feeling like heaven, and when he left the bathroom he tossed his dirty clothes towards the corner that housed the washing machine and the clothes dryer, not bothering to put them in the hamper.

The couch in the living room was practically calling his name, seducing him down onto its comfortable cushions with promises of a long rest and lovely dreams about a certain green-eyed Angel.

_But that's a no-no, couch,_ the American thought drowsily, stretching out on the inoffensive piece of furniture and pulling a thick blanket over himself. _I shouldn't think about Artie that way…it's wrong…he's too good for thoughts like that…_

In less than a minute, sleep took a hold of Alfred's mind and claimed him as its own, and he gladly welcomed it, knowing that when he woke, he'd get to spend another day with the Angel in the next room.

And that, he decided in the last moments before he abandoned the conscious world, was worth risking an eternity in hell.


	7. Chapter 7

A quiet sigh escaped slightly parted lips and emerald eyes opened, blinking as Arthur took in the world around him. Alfred's bedroom slowly came into focus, replacing the hazy remnants of the meadow. Weak morning light filtered in through the window and the digital clock on the nightstand told him it was 9:17 in the morning.

_Al's back..._

The thought brought a smile to the Angel's lips. He hadn't exactly been lonely without the tall American, since he'd been in his meadow for most of the night, but he liked that he wasn't all alone in the apartment even though Alfred was probably going to be asleep for several more hours. Lying there, he wondered if Alfred had come in to check on him when he'd gotten back, or if he'd gone straight to sleep. He thought it was more likely that the human had at least peeked into the room to make sure Arthur was okay, especially after making it perfectly clear that he was worried something might happen while he was gone.

_Silly man,_ he thought fondly, smiling as he breathed in the blue-eyed human's scent. _There's no reason for him to worry about me._

With another sigh, he gently pushed himself up off the mattress into a sitting position, his legs neatly tucked under himself. Rolling his shoulders and flexing his wings experimentally, he stretched and tested his range of movement. His feathers rustled quietly as they moved and the appendages felt stiff, but that was to be expected. The burn didn't hurt nearly as much as it had the day before, and he found he could flap his wings with only a small twinge of pain. When he flapped harder in an attempt to hover above the bed, however, he managed to get himself only a few inches into the air before the pain became nearly unbearable. His wings tensed as spasms made them jerk and he fell back onto the mattress, bouncing slightly. He breathed heavily through his nose and bit his lip to hold back a whimper, clutching at the blankets as his whole body shook. It wouldn't do to wake Al and have the human fuss over him when he needed to be resting, so he kept as silent and still as he could until the pain subsided, then he let out the breath he'd been holding.

"Damn…too soon…"

At least it wouldn't be long before he'd be recovered enough to go home. Then he'd have his wand, and he'd be able to heal himself within mere seconds without even a scar as proof the injury had ever existed. Until then, however, he needed to remember to be careful, or he might slow down his recovery. Not that he minded the thought of spending more time with Alfred.

Moving slowly to avoid irritating the wound again, Arthur moved off the bed and changed back into the clothes he'd borrowed the day before since they were still clean, then crept out of the bedroom. As he'd expected, Alfred was asleep on the couch, his head propped on one armrest with his arm draped over his eyes and his mouth hanging open. His feet were propped on the other armrest because he was too tall for the couch, though not by much. As Arthur watched, the American shifted and turned onto his side, mumbling quietly, though the Angel didn't manage to catch the words. Silent, the blond moved closer to the sleeping human and kneeled by the couch, leaning close to examine the details of Alfred's face.

He didn't look like a war vet, Arthur decided, though that was probably because he was still fairly young and in good health. Regardless, there was a hardened quality to that face that Arthur recognized as a mark of having gone through some terrible events, but the blond man appeared to have triumphed. At least, that's what Arthur hoped. He disliked the idea of Alfred suffering permanent damage from war, and even though he hadn't noticed any signs of old wounds, Al might be suffering from mental repercussions that weren't as obvious as a physical one would be.

_Maybe…I could…_

Moving slowly, Arthur lifted a hand and was about to press two of his fingers to the sleeping human's forehead when he stopped. No, he shouldn't invade Alfred's dreams without permission, even with the intent to help him. Angels were only supposed to use their telekinesis to help the humans they were assigned, and since Arthur hadn't been assigned to Alfred, it would be a violation against his oaths as an Angel to do so now. Besides, he'd already invaded the man's privacy once by looking into the trunk in the closet without permission, though that had provided good insight into Alfred's past.

He wanted to, though. He wanted to look into this strange human's mind, to see what he was dreaming bout, perhaps talk to him. Maybe Alfred would be willing to discuss things in his dream that he wasn't comfortable talking about while he was awake. That would be an even bigger invasion of privacy than looking into the trunk had been, and Arthur didn't want to betray the trust of the man who had saved him and was currently taking care of him.

Slowly, he let his hand drop back to his side. No. He wouldn't abuse Alfred's trust that way. He was an Angel, after all—he should have enough patience to wait for Al to be ready to tell him in his own time.

That was it, then. He wasn't going to link into Alfred's mind. But maybe, instead, he could…

Hesitating, Arthur shuffled forwards until he was practically hugging the couch, his eyes glued to the peaceful expression on Alfred's face. This was probably a bad idea, but no one was watching, and he couldn't imagine why he would get in trouble for it, anyway. But what if he woke up? This was a terrible idea—he really shouldn't.

No, no. He could. He wanted to. As long as he was careful, Alfred wasn't going to wake up, he wasn't going to get caught, nothing bad was going to happen. It was fine. Even if Alfred did wake up, it would be easy enough to explain. There was nothing wrong with it.

_You can do this, Arthur. He did it with no problem, and so can you._

With that reassuring thought in mind, the nervous Angel took a deep, steadying breath and leaned forward until his lips pressed against Alfred's forehead. The human was pleasantly warm, and even better, he smelled exactly like his pillows and blankets, though that wasn't surprising in the least. Arthur took another deep breath, smiling against the blond human's forehead, and pulled away just as slowly as he'd leaned forward. He was proud of himself for managing to do that, to at least return the affectionate gesture Alfred had so absently bestowed upon him the day before. Maybe he wasn't as callus as he'd always considered himself to be, though the fact that he'd only done it because the human was sleeping lessened his feeling of accomplishment slightly. Still, the fact that he'd been able to do it at all was almost surprising, even to him.

Like a magnet, Arthur's gaze gravitated to the left and landed on Alfred's lips, and he remembered Romulus' comment about "real" kisses.

_Oh, come off it, Arthur. Don't be so bloody stupid. You already decided that it didn't matter what Romulus said, because you're not going to kiss Alfred, and he's not going to kiss you, and that's the end of it. Now get off your arse before he wakes up and finds you less than four inches away from his face._

His eyes never moving away from the human's lips, Arthur scooted back away from the couch and stood, letting out a sigh of relief to see that he hadn't woken the American. Alfred looked so exhausted that Arthur would have hated to wake him unnecessarily, so he walked on his tiptoes as he went into the kitchen and stole another apple from the fridge for breakfast. He wasn't particularly hungry, but eating was as good a distraction as any, and he needed a distraction if he wasn't going to let his thoughts dwell on the kiss he'd just given Alfred, even though it wasn't a "real" kiss.

The apartment, however, was seriously lacking in sources of entertainment. There was the TV, but Alfred was sleeping and the noise would probably wake him, so that was out of the question. Arthur hadn't seen any books lying around that he could immerse himself in, either.

_Well,_ he thought to himself, taking a bite of the apple and chewing slowly, _I suppose I could go outside. As long as I don't go far, I won't get lost, and I don't want to sit around inside doing nothing until Al wakes up._

It seemed like a good idea, but there was the problem of his wings—they were visible as lumps on his back under the T-shirt, and he didn't want any passerby to notice them and become curious. Still munching on his apple, the Angel wandered back into the bedroom and over to the closet, surveying its contents once again. There were a few heavier tops with long sleeves and hoods and pocket on the front that looked like they'd hide his wings well enough, so he took a gray one with white lettering on the front and pulled it on over the borrowed T-shirt. It was big enough on him that his wings were completely unnoticeable, and Arthur smiled in satisfaction.

As quietly as he was able, he crossed the apartment to the front door, unlocked it, and stepped outside, moving carefully so that he wouldn't wake Alfred. Chilly morning air caressed his face and exposed shins, but he didn't mind. It felt nice, and the heavy top kept him plenty warm, but he wasn't wearing any shoes, so he sat on the step and tapped his feet against the cement of the sidewalk, watching the neighborhood slowly come to life as the sun rose higher into the sky.

First, adults appeared, most wearing bath robes over their pajamas and old slippers as they collected their mail from the boxes along the street. Arthur watched them discretely, curious about them but not wanting to garner suspicion as to whom he was or why he was staring at complete strangers. Not long after, the same adults appeared, fully dressed and likely headed off to work as they either drove off in cars or walked away down the street. Children appeared at approximately the same time, and a large, orange-yellow bus that Arthur recognized as a school bus arrived at the corner. It sat waiting as all the children climbed into it, clutching backpacks and little paper bags of Arthur didn't know what, and then the bus drove away with its new passengers safely seated inside.

After a while, more children appeared in the front yards, though these were younger than the ones who had gone to school. They called to each other, young voices happy as they all played some game that involved kicking a ball around with no clear system of points or rules, or at least, there were none that Arthur could decipher from the apparently random moves the children made. Still, it was nice to just sit and watch, something he didn't do very often any more. He could, of course, watch the earth from heaven, and focus on any single person or insect or animal, or watch an entire country at once if he wanted to, but he hadn't spent much time earth-gazing in the last few years. It depressed him, he discovered, to watch humans destroy each other and their planet with no apparent guilt or remorse. But watching children play, witnessing their innocence and simple joy, was something he'd missed, and he was glad he got to see it now, even on this dirty street in New York City.

XXX

_Alfred opened his eyes to the feeling of soft, warm lips on his skin, and was met with the sight of a pale throat gracefully melting into a shoulder that, sadly, was hidden beneath the fabric of a T-shirt._

"_Arthur," he sighed, and the Angel quickly drew away, his cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink. His green eyes were lowered in a guilty expression, so Alfred couldn't see the color._

_Shifting, the American sat up on his elbow and reached out to touch the Angel's cheek. "Let me see your eyes."_

_Blond lashes fluttered and lifted to reveal emeralds, and Alfred leaned forward until his nose was almost touching the other man's. He looked into those eyes as if everything else had ceased to exist. Arthur's blush darkened but he didn't look away; after a moment, he tilted his head slightly and shifted forward to press his lips against Alfred's. His eyes fell closed as the taller man's fingers lightly trailed along the edge of his jaw and down his neck, stroking the pale flesh so that Arthur sighed delicately and moved even closer._

_Moments later, as if remembering himself, the Angel broke the gentle kiss and put his hand over Alfred's holding it to his chest. He smiled sadly as realization darkened the human's sapphire eyes._

"_I really like you, Alfred," Arthur whispered, "truly, I do, but you're human, and I'm not."_

_Alfred wanted to say it didn't matter, that he didn't care, but he couldn't, and the two stayed that way for what felt like an eternity._

"_I'm sorry." There was so much regret in the Angel's soft-spoken words that it made Alfred's heart ache._

"_So am I."_

The buzzing of his phone startled Alfred awake, and for once he was glad to have been disturbed. His dream had started off nice enough, but the ending was definitely less pleasant. It even unnerved him—the Arthur in his dream didn't have a heartbeat.

Alfred's phone gave a more insistent buzz and he picked it up off the coffee table, squinting at the screen because he wasn't wearing his glasses. When he finally managed to discern and recognize the number, he frowned.

"Told him to leave me alone," the sleepy blond grumbled, hitting the "ignore" button and setting his now-silent phone down again. Turning onto his back, he stretched and yawned, his neck and back stiff after sleeping on the couch for two nights in a row.

"Mm…time izzit…"

He picked up his phone again, squinting, and saw that it was almost two in the afternoon.

_Time to get up, then._

Alfred sat up and ran a hand through his dusty blond hair, making it look even more tousled than normal, then put on his glasses so that he could actually see. His apartment appeared to be empty, though he knew Arthur was around here somewhere and was probably bored out of his mind without anything to do while Alfred slept.

A loud growl sounded from his stomach, encouraging the American to get up and go into the kitchen, hunting for a snack—he settled on a single-serving-size bag of Cheetos and munched on them happily, licking the powdery cheese-like substance off his fingers every now and then.

"Arthur!" he called once the Cheetos were gone, crumpling the bag and tossing it into the trashcan. "Hey, Arthur, are you hungry? I'm going to start lunch."

There was no reply, and the tall blond began to feel a hint of worry. Arthur couldn't possibly be sleeping still. It was too late in the day, and besides, he'd have heard Al's calls and woken up. But why wasn't he responding?

Nervous and worried now, Al crept towards the cracked bedroom door and peeked inside. The room was empty. He checked the bathroom next, but the Angel was nowhere to be found.

_There's only so many places for him to be, where could he go?_

Blue eyes closely examining everything around him, Alfred turned and surveyed his apartment, searching for some clue as to the Angel's whereabouts. It was then that he noticed the front door wasn't closed all the way, though he was sure he'd locked it when he'd gotten home that morning. With quick steps, he went to the door and all but yanked it open, looking out over the street.

"Arthur!"

"Oh, bloody hell! Are you trying to make me go deaf?" an irritated voice demanded, and Alfred dropped his gaze to see the petite Angel sitting on his front step dressed in over-sized jean shorts and an "I heart NYC" hoody that was so big Arthur looked like a child in it. His hair was windblown and he was rubbing at his ear as if it were hurting him.

"Sorry. I just didn't know where you were. I was worried about you." Alfred stepped out of the apartment and sat by the smaller man, forgetting for the moment that he was only wearing pajama pants.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you? You don't need to worry about me so much. I appreciate your concern, but it really is unnecessary. I can handle myself."

Sheepish, Alfred lowered his gaze to the sidewalk. "I know. Sorry."

They sat together in silence for a few moments, Arthur watching the other residents of the neighborhood go about their daily business while Alfred kept his eyes lowered in order to avoid upsetting the Angel further.

The silence only served to let Alfred's mind wander, and he began thinking about his dream. He was glad it hadn't been anything dirtier than a simple kiss, and the way the Arthur in his dream had seemed so sad about not being human still made his heart hurt, but that wasn't what he focused on. Arthur's lack of a heartbeat bothered him, even though it had only been a dream. It was probably just his subconscious reacting to the knowledge that the Angel was actually dead. That news had been a shock—how could someone who was dead feel pain, breathe, feel warm to the touch and need to eat?

_He's an Angel, Al. Don't question it. If he says he's dead, then he's dead._

Arthur nudged Alfred's shoulder, drawing his attention back to the real world. "Just bloody ask."

"What?" Surprised, Alfred looked at the Angel questioningly. He couldn't know what Al had been thinking about, could he?

"I can feel your concern and curiosity as if they were my own. If you have a question, ask. We already agreed that I won't lie to you if it's something I'm allowed to tell you."

A blush spread over Alfred's cheeks—he was going to have to be more careful to control his emotions if he didn't want Arthur to realize how much he liked him.

Liked. That was the biggest understatement Alfred had ever been a part of.

"I…I was just wondering, since you said last night that technically you're dead, do you have a heartbeat?"

"That's all? You've been sitting there looking like you're pondering the meaning of the universe for almost five minutes, and that's all you wanted to know?"

"Shut up," Alfred muttered, sulking even though he considered himself too old for pouting. "It's not exactly normal to have to ask someone if they have a pulse or not."

"It's not exactly normal to find an Angel in an alleyway and let him live with you while you nurse him back to health, either," the smaller male pointed out, smiling slightly.

Alfred sighed—the Angel had a point. "True. So, do you have a heartbeat?"

"Why don't you find out?"

Unsure if that was an invitation or not, Alfred turned to face the petite Angel sitting beside him and hesitantly placed his hand on the man's chest, in the exact place as in his dream. A few moments passed before the American smiled, and Arthur's green eyes almost seemed to laugh as he watched the taller man's reaction.

"Cool."

Removing his hand, Alfred turned back to the street and watched the children play, content. Beside him, Arthur shifted closer to the human and leaned on his shoulder ever so slightly in a companionable sort of way; even that small amount of contact made them both smile. The small amount of discomfort Al had been experiencing since he woke was gone—he could almost still feel the warmth of Arthur's chest and the steady beat of a heart against his palm.


	8. Chapter 8

It was raining again. The drops of water pelted Alfred's hood as he hurriedly did his rounds, boots splashing in the puddles that had formed along the fence. He would be completely soaked if it weren't for the black slicker he wore, but he wasn't complaining. Rain was better than snow, and that was exactly what he would be dealing with in a few weeks. At least then he would have the benefit of easily seeing an intruder's tracks in the snow, but he still preferred rain.

Once he'd finished walking the fence and returned to the Security Office to check in with Antonio, Alfred hung up his wet slicker and went to the fridge to claim one of the many frozen meals stored there. He was leaning against the counter watching the little box slowly spin in the microwave when the other three guards came in, also wearing slickers and basically drenched.

"I fucking hate rain," Lovino complained as he slipped out of his slicker and hung it next to Alfred's. The only response to this statement was a raised eyebrow from Antonio. The tall Spaniard rose from his chair, something he didn't do very often, and approached the moody Italian. Lovino glared up at him, his hands perched on his rather narrow hips. "What?"

Leaning close but not touching him, Antonio put his lips by Lovino's ear. "I thought you liked the rain, Lovi. We have such fond memories of it…"

A dark blush spread over Lovino's cheeks and he shifted as if he wanted to step back from the Spaniard but couldn't bring himself to. "S-shut up, damn it! We're not alone!"

"And if we were?" There was a suggestive lilt to the words that maybe Lovino's eyes widen and he mumbled incoherently as a smile graced Antonio's lips. Awkward to be witnessing the intimate exchange, Alfred, Ludwig and Feliciano looked away from the two and Alfred began to urge the microwave to cook his meal faster so he could focus on eating rather than on the Spaniard and Italian.

Finally, Ludwig cleared his throat. "This isn't the best time for that, Antonio."

To the relief of everyone, the tall green-eyed man nodded and returned to his seat in front of the monitors, apparently unconcerned with how his display of affection had affected his coworkers. Lovino let out an audible sigh and his shoulders slumped slightly as if even being that close to Antonio required more self-control than he usually exercised; he crossed the room with shuffling steps and sat on the couch, curling up on a corner of it as if that would protect him from the partial seduction he'd just experienced.

Clearly confused about how he was supposed to react to his brother's uncharacteristic silence, Feliciano looked up at Ludwig with his usual happy-sleepy expression. "Are we playing poker tonight, Ludwig? Ve…there's not much else to do."

The tall blond looked to where Lovino seemed to be trying to curl himself into an ever smaller ball, then to where Alfred was taking his food from the microwave and stirring it with a fork and then to Antonio intently watching the security cameras before turning his attention to the short Italian standing in front of him.

"Not tonight, Feli. Let's watch a movie instead—you did bring your laptop."

"Ve…okay!" Smiling, the short Italian drifted over to where he'd left his bag at the beginning of his shift and retrieved his laptop, almost dropping it in the process of taking it out of the bag. He settled on the couch, giving Lovino plenty of space, and opened the screen as he wiggled in obvious excitement. Ludwig, much more calmly, got the power cord from Feliciano's bag and plugged it in so that the laptop wouldn't die while they were watching the movie, then settled on the couch on the other side of Feli from Lovino.

Now seated at the table as he ate his microwaved noodles, Alfred observed the German and Italian in silence. They were a couple—as were Lovino and Antonio—so Al sometimes felt like he was the awkward fifth wheel hanging out with his couple friends. He tried not to act like it, or let it show that sometimes being around the four of them made him feel lonely.

_I'm not lonely,_ he reminded himself, slurping a noodle as quietly as he could so as not to disturb the movie-watchers. _I've got Arthur. They don't know that, of course, but it's true. Arthur probably doesn't even realize how much of a difference he's made in the last two days. Whoa, is that all it's been? Two days? It seems like he's been staying with me for ages. Eh, maybe it's a good thing none of them realize how attached I am to him—no one needs to know that I secretly want to do the secretive Angel that is secretly living in my apartment with me. That would be awkward for anyone to hear about, especially the Angel himself._

Realizing suddenly that he'd ceased to eat his noodles and they were starting to get cold, Alfred quickly finished his half-ass attempt at a meal before throwing the empty container away and leaving his fork on the counter so that he'd remember to take it home and wash it then bring it back the next time he worked. Then, with nothing else to do, he leaned back in his usual chair and closed his eyes.

He might as well get as much sleep as he could so that he'd be able to wake up sooner and spend more of his day with Arthur.

XXX

A crash of thunder shook the window and Arthur sat bolt upright in Alfred's bed, wide-eyed and panting as if he'd been running. The quit pitter-patter that had lulled him to sleep was gone, replaced by the dull roar of rain and the howling of wind with the occasional rumbling thunder. The thunder was what woke him—the sound terrified him in a way that it never had before. Even just hearing the rain and wind was enough to make him shudder, and he pulled the blankets up to cover his bare chest as if that would shield him from his fear.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't work, and the next flash of lightning illuminated the Angel as he huddled on the American's bed tried to block out the threatening sound of thunder. He managed to stay where he was until a third boom sent him rocketing out of bed and to the bedroom door then out into the living room. Green eyes wild, he glanced around the room for something to use for protection and eventually dived onto the couch, covering himself with the blanket Alfred had used the morning before. He snatched up the remote from the coffee table and turned on the TV, hitting the Volume Up button over and over again in an attempt to use the TV to block out the sound of the storm.

"Come on come on come on," he muttered, glaring at the glowing screen as the little green numbers continued to go higher. It didn't matter what was on. Anything was better than that bloody storm, and Arthur was prepared to crawl under the couch if that was what it took to block out the sound of the thunder.

When the volume hit 100 and stopped, he pulled the blanket over his head and clutched it close so that only his face was revealed, rocking slightly as he stared at the TV. Outside, the storm continued, but he couldn't hear it as easily now that he had whatever was playing to help drown it out.

_Get a hold of yourself, Arthur. It's just a sodding storm. You can handle this. You've flown in countless storms just like this, and worse. It's just thunder—there's nothing scary about thunder._

Almost as if it could hear his thoughts, another flash of lightning brightened the window, followed a few moments later by the roll of thunder, and Arthur shuddered despite his mental pep talk.

_Okay, so it's scary. Thunder is scary, I admit it. I'm bloody terrified of it. I shouldn't be and I wasn't until a few days ago but it's scary now and I accept that. Now I just need to decide what to do about it._

A boom echoed through the apartment, and Arthur thought it was thunder until it was quickly followed by another, then shouting.

"It's two in the morning, you fucker! Turn your shit the fuck down!" the muffled words came through—apparently, Arthur had upset Alfred's neighbors by turning the TV up so loud.

"Bugger off ya bloody wankering git!" he screamed, not bothering to turn to face the wall the words had come through, his terror working to loosen his self control from its moorings. Usually, he wouldn't be nearly so abrasive while dealing with strangers, but the man on the other side of the wall obviously didn't realize that Arthur would rather die than sit there in silence except for the storm.

"I'm gonna call the police if you don't turn it down!" the same voice shouted, and Arthur recognized the threat in the stranger's tone—obviously, calling the police was a bad thing.

Still, the next flash and boom made him squeak, and his fingers trembled slightly has he grudgingly turned the volume on the TV back down to a more acceptable level. This was not okay. Nothing about this was okay. He was alone in a mostly dark apartment at two in the morning during a thunderstorm and the neighbors were ready to call the police. He knew that was bad even though he hadn't had to deal with the police in a long, long time. What if they came inside to look around? What if they found out that Arthur wasn't supposed to be there, and Alfred got in trouble? Or worse, they might discover his wings if the blanket slipped, and Arthur didn't want to think what might happen then.

He imagined being arrested, being dragged outside into that storm—a boom made him cower away from the window—and shoved into the backseat of the police car. Huddling there in nothing but Alfred's borrowed shorts, terrified of the storm and of wherever the policeman was taking him. He'd be passed around for others to look at, poked and prodded and tugged on until some shadowy angent arrived and took him away. No one would ever see him again after that, and he'd spend the rest of his life locked away in some basement until the humans tried to dissect him.

_I'd get out,_ he told himself confidently. _I'm too fast for humans to catch. Humans never manage to capture Angels. They'd only have me for a couple of days, until my back healed. Then I'd make my escape and go home._

A flicker of concern for Alfred crossed his thoughts. If he was taken prisoner and later escaped, the apartment would be the first place his pursuers would look. If Alfred was home, they might arrest him and take him in for questioning. Torture him for information even though the American knew next to nothing about Angels.

Arthur hated the idea of someone hurting Alfred. Even after only two days, he felt protective of the man and would rather take another lightning bolt than see him hurt.

_Just don't do anything stupid, Arthur. None of that has to happen. Lay low so no one calls the police and everything will be fine._

Outside, the storm raged on, and Arthur flinched at every flash of lightning, every rumble of thunder. He curled into an ever-smaller ball on the couch, clutching at the blanket desperately, his eyes glued to the TV screen even though he had no idea what he was watching.

Suddenly, the screen went dark and even the glowing numbers on the microwave in the kitchen went out. Arthur whimpered even though he could still see fairly well.

"Oh, gods…no, no, please don't let the power be out," he whispered, frightened beyond belief. "This is bloody unbelievable…this isn't really happening. I'm not stuck on earth with a lightning burn on my back. I'm not in some tiny apartment staying with an American man with the most amazing—no! No. I'm not. I'm not afraid of the thunder. Or the lightning. Why should I be? It's just a storm. I can fly faster than lightning without even trying. I'm definitely not scared of lightning. And I'm not afraid of the dark, either, so it wouldn't matter if the power was out, anyway. Just close your eyes and go to sleep. Go to your meadow. It's peaceful there. No lightning or thunder or storms or mysterious men in suits who want to take you away and cut you open to see how your wings work and—no! Stop that! Bloody hell, get a hold of yourself, you git!"

Green eyes shut tight, Arthur shook his head as if that would rid him of the images his imagination had conjured up.

"Please come home, Alfred," he begged, refusing to look at the dark apartment and pulling the blanket up to cover his face. "I don't want to be here all by myself. Please come back."

XXX

"Whoa, the rain really picked up," Alfred commented, standing in the doorway as he watched the storm taking place less than two feet away. It was raining even harder than it had a few days ago, and lightning flashed every few seconds rather than every few minutes. It was odd that there were so many big storms so late in the year—Alfred expected flurries and frost more than he expected rain. Walking in rain and snow was fine—he was used to both—but he definitely didn't want to walk home in _that._

Behind him, Ludwig and Feliciano were putting on their coats, and the Italian looked up at his tall friend. "Can we give Alfred a ride home, Ludwig? It's raining really hard and no wants to walk in a storm like that one."

The German nodded. "Ja, we can give him a ride. Alfred?"

"That'd be great, thanks," he accepted, smiling at the tall blond and short brunet. "I'd be soaked within minutes if I tried to walk."

"Ve~that wouldn't be any fun at all!"

Rolling his eyes fondly, Ludwig made sure Feliciano's jacket was properly buttoned before the three adults ran across the parking lot to where Ludwig's car was parked and quickly got in, those few seconds leaving them partially drenched.

Feliciano chatted happily in the front seat as Ludwig drove, obviously not as tired as he looked, and Ludwig offered short, simple responses whenever one was required. They had an interesting relationship, Alfred thought. It worked, though. No matter what, the two were together, though occasionally Ludwig became exasperated by Feliciano's lack of concentration and the Italian's blatant dislike of anything even similar to labor.

They were amusing to watch, and Alfred was content to rest in the back seat and observe the odd couple's interactions. Their relationship was strangely perfect—Ludwig's serious, hardworking nature balancing Feliciano's carefree and happy way of life in a pleasantly unexpected way. It was nice to see his friends so happy, but it made him remember things he'd rather forget, so he turned his attention to the storm outside.

It only took ten minutes for the car to reach the apartment, and Al prepared himself before he left the car, getting his key ready in his hand.

"Thanks for the ride, guys. I'll see you tomorrow night."

"Good night, Alfred!" Feliciano replied, turning in his seat to smile and wave at the American.

Ludwig offered a simple nod. "Night."

After flashing a brief smile, Al ducked out of the car and sprinted the short distance to his front door, reaching forward with his key so the door was unlocked by the time the rest of his body caught up to it, and he was inside his apartment within moments. He'd barely had time to shut the door behind him when a body slammed into him, shoving him back against the door as surprisingly strong, thin arms wrapped around his torso.

"Alfred!"

The tall American tensed for a moment, surprised, but the sound of his name and the obvious fear in the speaker's voice quickly made him relax. Sighing quietly, he hugged the smaller man, careful of the Angel's wings and burn.

"Arthur…" He could feel Arthur trembling and instinctively held him closer, murmuring soothingly into the green-eyed Angel's ear. "It's all right, Arthur…I'm here…shhh…."

"A-Alfred…"

With ease, he scooped Arthur up into his arms and carried him to the couch, settling comfortably with the Angel positioned in his lap, face nuzzled into the American's black shirt. It was nice, and for once Al didn't have out-of-control sexual fantasies running through his mind just from being in the same room as the Angel. Instead, his thoughts were calm, and he was entirely focused on simply holding the smaller man, stroking his golden hair, feeling the warmth of his petite body resting against his own. It wasn't until the rumble of thunder made Arthur whimper and cling to Alfred for protection that the taller man realized what was wrong.

"It's all right, Arthur. There's nothing to be afraid of. I won't let anything hurt you," he promised, running his fingers through the soft strands of the Angel's hair, his arm draped around his narrow waist.

"I-I couldn't sleep…the storm…my back…"

"I know, I know." Hell, could this man be any more adorable? Here he was, trembling and practically naked, curled up in Alfred's lap with his face buried in his chest and it was all Al could do to keep stroking his hair just so he wouldn't kiss him.

Not an aggressive kiss, nothing deep or passionate or possessive or demanding. Something sweet, gentle, caring, nothing more than a gesture to reassure him that Al was there, that he cared and he wasn't leaving again until he was sure that Arthur was okay. He wanted to convey that, but he couldn't do it by kissing him. That was out of the question and always would be, so he settled for holding the Angel close and letting those emotions pour out of him in the hopes that Arthur would sense them.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the trembling in Arthur's body lessened and eventually stopped altogether. He relaxed against the hard form of Alfred's torso, slipping his arms around the taller man's ribcage and holding close to him. Normally, such a blatant display of affection would have embarrassed him, but right now he didn't care. Right now, he was just glad he wasn't alone in that dark apartment anymore, and he wasn't about to let Alfred out of his sight.

To his surprise, he felt his eyelids grow heavy despite the storm still raging outside, and shifted to lie more comfortably against Alfred, content in the American's arms.

"Alfred…thank you…" he mumbled, mostly asleep. The hand moving through his hair slowed slightly for a moment, but he hardly noticed.

"You're welcome."

The Angel smiled slightly and slipped into sleep, his cheek resting against Alfred's chest. It was quiet except for the storm, and Alfred soon found himself on the verge of dozing. For a moment, he wondered if he should try to move Arthur into the bedroom without waking him, but the burn would make that just about impossible. Besides, there was no guarantee that Arthur wouldn't wake up once he was left on his own again, so Alfred shifted until he was lying back against the armrest with his head propped on a pillow and Arthur more or less lying directly on top of him. A blanket, probably discarded by Arthur, was thrown over the back of the couch, so he pulled that down until it covered both of them.

Warm and comfortable and entirely happy to have Arthur trusting him so completely, Alfred closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He forgot that he was still dressed from work, that he hadn't showered and that his clothes were damp from the rain. None of that mattered. Arthur was sleeping and safe, and Alfred was exhausted, so he let sleep take him without even a hint of a fight, confident that he wouldn't have a compromising dream. There was no reason to—he was already completely satisfied with the conscious world.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur woke up first, groggy green eyes cracking open as the Angel groaned and shifted. Why was the bed so lumpy? It hadn't been like that before. Still…it was surprisingly comfortable…and warm…and…breathing? What?

This wasn't the bedroom. It was the living room.

Oh. Of course. The storm. He remembered, all too clearly, the terror that had driven him to huddle on the couch and yell gibberish at Alfred's neighbors. Then the American had gotten home. Arthur remembered throwing himself off the couch and flying to the taller man despite the pain in his back, plastering himself to Alfred and crying like a child. It was embarrassing, but Alfred had made everything okay again, and he'd managed to calm down soon enough. Eventually, they'd both fallen asleep on the couch. Which meant Arthur was currently lying on top of a sleeping Alfred.

_Bugger…how am I supposed to get up without waking him? He probably needs a few more hours of sleep._

The Angel shifted again, lifting his head slightly in order to better assess his options, and realized for the first time that Alfred's arms were wrapped securely around his waist. It didn't look like he was going anywhere any time soon. Not that he minded. He was warm, and Alfred's chest was broad and muscular enough that he could lay comfortably, his head tucked under the man's chin. He could feel Alfred's heartbeat, a steady _ba-bump_ that seemed too vibrate pleasantly through Arthur's entire frame. Slow, deep breaths made the American's chest rise and fall, his lungs powerful enough that each breath lifted the petite Angel as if he wasn't even there.

_He's so strong…_

Lightly, so he wouldn't wake him, Arthur traced over Alfred's collarbone, the plane of his chest and the curves of muscle and bone in his shoulder. He was perfect, even with that boring black uniform, and Arthur found his hand sliding up the smooth skin of Alfred's neck, cupping his cheek, his thumb brushing over the soft, pliable lips as a warm breath ghosted against his skin. Alfred was so much darker than Arthur was; his skin was almost golden brown compared to the Angel's pale coloring. It made his hand look even daintier than it really was.

Everything about the American made Arthur feel small and delicate, but he kind of liked it. It was sort of nice to not have to be strong all the time, to be able to relax and let someone else take care of things. Like now. He'd never let anyone hold him like this before, even during his human life, and if it had been anyone other than Alfred, he'd have been embarrassed and covered it up by pretending to be angry. But he didn't have to pretend around Alfred. The human had accepted everything about him from the moment Arthur had first spoken to him, and he never wanted to lose the sense of comfort and trust he felt in Alfred's presence. He didn't want to go without it, ever.

_But I won't have it anymore when I go home._

That was an unpleasant thought. As much as he wanted to go home, as much as he missed his own bed and house and friends, going back and never seeing Alfred again, never hearing him laugh—even though it was loud and maybe a little bit annoying—never seeing the happiness in those crazy blue eyes…he didn't want that.

It had only been a few days. He'd known Alfred for three days, and already he was so attached to him, he was almost disgusted with himself. What was he, some love-struck high school girl with a crush on the senior because he had the classic blue-eyes-blond-hair-brilliant-smile-hot-body-comb o-deal? No, no, definitely not. Arthur was a lot of things, but he certainly wasn't a hormone-driven teenager. He was much too old for that sort of nonsense. He liked Alfred because the human was friendly and helpful and understanding. Arthur was more grateful that Alfred had found him than he could say. He could so easily have been found by some murdering lunatic rapist who would have kept him chained in a basement without treating his wound at all, fulfilling sick fantasies about Angels while Arthur was forced to endure it and gather his strength until he could break free and escape.

Thinking about what could have happened brought unpleasant images to the front of Arthur's mind, and he buried his face in the fabric of Alfred's shirt, breathing in the scent of the man to relax himself and move his mind onto more pleasant topics. That was another thing he was going to miss about the human when he returned home: his smell. He might manage to replicate it somehow, but it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be Alfred.

Sighing, Arthur rested his cheek on Alfred's shoulder and closed his eyes, content to spend the next few hours sleeping rather than attempting to get up now and most likely ending up waking the American. He could hear the neighborhood just starting to come to life outside, so it must still be fairly early. In that case, he was definitely willing to let himself drift off again, and did so within the next ten minutes.

Hours passed as the two slept on the couch, Arthur nestled against Alfred's chest, the American's arms holding him firmly but gently in a protective way. Muffled noises leaked into the apartment, too quiet to disturb the pair, and all was calm as they breathed not quite in sync, but close. Arthur's fingers were curled into the fabric of Alfred's black security uniform as if he was afraid the American would leave him, something he needn't have worried about even for a moment. The peace was shattered when the TV suddenly came to life, blaring the morning news at almost full volume.

Both men sat bolt upright, knocking their foreheads together painfully.

"Ouch! Ah, fuck," the Angel muttered, putting his hands over his forehead as Alfred groaned and rubbed at his own sore spot.

The TV continued to pour out painfully loud broadcasts, momentarily forgotten by the two males. As soon as the pain dulled enough for him to think, Alfred leaned over and picked up the remote from the coffee table to hit the power button—the TV went black again. Blessed silence filled the apartment and he leaned back against the armrest, sighing in relief as his eyes fell shut. That was, by far, the most aggressive alarm clock he'd ever experienced.

He was about to doze off again when something shifted against a _very_ sensitive part of his body and his blue eyes flew open, his head snapping up.

_Oh fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!_

It was like something straight out of his daydreams. The thing that had woken him was Arthur, which was fine because he wouldn't mind if the Angel woke him a little early if he was lonely or bored. But this wasn't that. Arthur clearly wasn't bored, and the expression on his face definitely didn't help the rest of it.

The Angel was sitting on him. No, not just sitting. The Angel was _straddling_ him, the fabric of the soft shorts he wore pushed up to his hips so that his creamy white thighs were showing, and he wasn't wearing a shirt. Even worse, he wasn't even wearing shorts because Alfred recognized the material as a pair of his boxers and damn but that was sexy. Arthur's golden hair was sleep-tousled and his hands were braced against Alfred's ribcage as he held himself up. This meant that he was leaning forward slightly, stomach arching so that his narrow frame seemed even more delicate than usual, and his chest was pushed out a little.

As the green-eyed man shyly met Alfred's gaze, biting his lip in uncertainty, the American felt an almost irresistible urge to run his hands up those thighs, slowly, savoring every touch, letting his calloused hands glide over the Angel's soft-as-silk skin. Yes, up his thighs to his hips, holding them gently because they were so small they easily fit into his hands, leaning up to kiss that chest, to run his tongue over the definitions of the muscles and bones so that Arthur gasped and shivered. Then taste the little pink nubs that were just as pale as the rest of him as his arms wrapped around the slender waist to pull Arthur closer, to hold him against Alfred's chest while he continued his ministrations.

It would make the Angel tremble and wrap his arms around the American's neck, and Al imagined his fingers teasing the sensitive skin at the bottom of his spine, fingertips sometimes dipping below the waistband of the shorts as he kissed the Angel's collarbone then neck, up and down, along the underside of his jaw, behind his ear and sometimes licking that perfectly curved ear because it made the petite man gasp.

The pale skin would taste sweet, inviting him, and he'd gladly give in, exploring the graceful neck until he found that one spot that was more sensitive than the rest. That was where he'd bite, gently at first so as not to frighten the Angel, then a little harder, tugging and sucking at the skin until it turned red then darkened into a hickey, proof that Arthur was his and only his, no one else's. Then kiss the mark and lick it, soothing away any pain the Angel may have felt, his hand finally slipping into the shorts to slide around the curve of that perfect bottom, cupping the soft flesh and bringing Arthur's hips forward against his own because the Angel needed to know how badly Alfred wanted him, how badly he needed him. His green eyes would widen and maybe he'd be a little scared and nervous but Alfred would whisper promises that it would be okay and that he didn't have to worry because he loved him, and he'd never do anything to hurt him, ever, and he'd kiss him to prove it, hands patiently working to rid the Angel of those shorts so Al could finally—

The tightness forming in Alfred's pants interrupted the scenario his imagination was playing out for him and he tensed, terrified that Arthur would feel it, that he would be disgusted and never allow Alfred to touch him again, much less hold him like he had last night. Trying to act like nothing was wrong, he smiled a bit nervously and braced his hands on the couch, pushing himself back and up so that Arthur was sitting on his legs rather than his waist where there was a bulge that Alfred prayed the Angel wouldn't notice. That was the last thing he wanted right now.

His attempt at escape appeared to be a success because Arthur relaxed and easily climbed off him, standing and fixing the material of the boxers so that they hid his thighs once more. The Angel stretched, his back to Alfred, his wings spreading and flexing so that the skin between them stretched a little but not enough to agitate the burn. It was a beautiful sight, one that Alfred couldn't take his eyes off of, and it certainly didn't help his…ah…condition.

Before the Angel even had a chance to turn around or speak, Alfred bolted off the couch and into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

"Alfred?" Arthur's tone was concerned, right on the other side of the bathroom door. "Are you okay?"

He was already shirtless, tearing at his clothes desperately and tossing them haphazardly to the floor. "Um, y-yeah! I just…I didn't shower last night so I feel gross. I'll be quick and then I'll make us breakfast, okay?"

_Oh, God, hurry up…!_

"Okay. I'll be on the front step if you want help cooking," the Angel's voice drifted through the door, practically caressing Alfred's now-exposed skin as he hastily turned on the shower; he shivered.

"Got it!"

Arthur's footsteps faded as he walked away from the bathroom door, and Alfred forced himself to relax for a moment. He sighed, standing naked by the shower as the water heated up, and looked down at himself with a mixture of disgust and frustration. Even at half mast, his extremely obvious and inappropriate erection begged for attention, and some small masochistic part of him wanted to turn the water as cold as it would go and force himself to calm down, but he didn't. He let the water heat up then stepped into the spray, shutting the shower door quickly to avoid getting water all over the floor. It felt nice against his skin, and he wasted no time in soaking his hair and body.

Moving quickly, he picked up a bar of soap from one of the little built-in shower shelves and rubbed it onto his hands, lathering them until the extra bubbles ran down his arms, then dropped the bar carelessly. He leaned back, the shower wall cold against the heated flesh of his shoulders, and oh so gently began stroking himself with one hand, using the soapy bubbles as lubricant. A shudder worked its way down his spine and he bit his lip, wrapping his fingers around the rod between his legs as his feet slid a little farther apart. It felt amazing and horrible. Guilt at what he was doing ate at him until the pump of his fist washed it away in a blinding wave of pleasure. Just one pump, then back to the stroking, coaxing himself to full arousal and biting back the name he wanted to moan.

_Creamy thighs begging to be touched, to be squeezed and kissed and maybe bitten to leave little red marks to claim him, to make sure everyone knew who he belonged to._

"F-fuck…hah…"

His thumb rubbed over the tip, sending another shudder through him as his knees shook.

_Green eyes wide with surprise mixed with pleasure, darkened by lust. Those perfect pale lips that looked softer than anything that ever did or ever would exist, parting slightly as a moan escaped them, a moan that sounded like his name._

"Arthur…god…"

The pace of his hand increased, gripping tightly as his eyes closed and his jaw went slack, letting out the groans and moans as they came, not caring if he was heard over the sound of the shower. It didn't matter. No one mattered but the Arthur in his head, the one that loved him and belonged to him and welcomed him into his body, calling his name. Pre-cum began mixing with the soap and he lifted his free hand, trembling, to his hair. That one bit of hair that always stuck up was caught between his fingers and pulled, making him buck against his own hand and call out, the sound not quite a word but more than just a yell.

_Back arched, chest heaving and dripping with sweat, pale and delicate like the rest of him. Alfred's tongue gathering the salty taste over the sweet skin, licking, kissing and biting, sucking the sensitive nubs he found. His name coming in pants and moans with every thrust of his hips, filling his ears._

"_A-Alfred…!"_

"Arthur!" The shout burst from him, his head thrown back against the tile wall as pleasure crashed down on him and his world turned fiery white. He continued to pump, cum covering his hand and the opposite wall as his hips bucked of their own accord. The hand in his hair twisted and yanked on that overly sensitive bit, almost abusively. It was a painful, guilty pleasure, a dirty thing that darkened his already flushed face with shame at what he'd just done.

Slowly, the white faded, as did the imaginary Angel he'd been picturing. His arms went limp, falling to hang at his sides as his legs shook with the effort of keeping him on his feet. Panting, he let himself slide down the shower wall until he was sitting, the water still pouring down on him washing away the soap and sticky white substance that was the proof of what he'd just done.

_You're sick. You just jacked off thinking about an injured Angel. There's a special place in hell for you, Alfred. F. Jones._

Despite the hate-filled thoughts he directed at himself, a sense of satisfaction weighed in the American's body as exhaustion began to creep up on him. His limbs felt heavy and useless and he wanted to fall asleep right there, but he knew he couldn't. He had to shower and then go make breakfast, and he had to do it quickly because otherwise Arthur would start to worry, and he definitely didn't want the Angel snooping around so soon after…that.

Alfred focused on slowing his breathing as the shaking in his legs and hands eventually stopped then carefully climbed to his feet, using the wall for support. As quickly as he could, he washed his hair and body, rinsing the shower of any sign of his sinful deed, and finally shut the water off. The air outside the shower was cold enough to wake him up a little more and he dried off before wrapping the towel around his waist and venturing out of the bathroom. He cast a nervous glance at the front door, noting that it was open so that Arthur would be able to hear him if he spoke before he went into the bedroom and shut the door.

It was difficult to resist the temptation just to collapse onto the bed and fall asleep. That was all he wanted right at that moment, but he refrained and dressed, choosing comfortable old jeans and a jacket to lounge around in for the rest of the day.

"Arthur," he called, leaving the bedroom again with the damp towel over his shoulder, "what do you want for breakfast?"

"You wouldn't by any chance know how to make scones, would you?" came the response, and Alfred paused.

Scones? "No, but if you do then we can make some." The sound of footsteps coming back into the apartment reached him as he hung up the towel in the bathroom. Arthur greeted him with a smile when he joined the Angel in the kitchen.

"I'd love to make some scones," the petite man admitted, almost shy. It was, to be completely honest, adorable.

Alfred smiled back and ruffled the Angel's hair playfully, as if he hadn't just climaxed with the man's name on his lips. "Then let's make scones."

He never wanted to make scones again. Even though Arthur had worked with complete confidence while making the biscuit-like "treats," and Alfred had at first thought they would turn out to be delicious because of the petite man's enthusiasm, he now knew better. The scones were like rocks. Maybe they'd just left them in the oven too long, but Arthur didn't seem to think so. The Angel ate them as if they were made of cloud rather than hard enough to crack teeth.

"Do you like them?" Arthur asked, smiling at Alfred across the table. Besides the scones, they'd made scrambled eggs and bacon with orange juice. The Angel had wanted tea, but Al hadn't had a chance to run to the store and pick any up yet, so he'd settled for the juice. So far, Alfred had been avoiding the scones as discreetly as he could, occasionally nibbling at one between bites of his other food.

"Yeah, they're just…different," he lied, smiling in return. The scones were hard and chalky, making his tongue feel dry as he attempted to choke a bit of it down. At least he had orange juice to help get rid of the taste. Maybe he could get used to them.

Somehow, he managed to swallow the last bite of his scone and warily eyed the ones piled on the plate next to the frying pan of eggs.

No, probably not. He had a very poor chance of ever getting used to eating those damn scones.

"Did you want another one?" The innocent expression on Arthur's face was so genuine Alfred almost couldn't believe it. Did he really like the scones as much as he seemed to?

"Um, no, I'm all right." Alfred patted his flat belly to signal that he was full, even though he easily could have eating another serving of eggs and a few more strips of bacon. He'd always had a large appetite, but if he told Arthur that and avoided eating the scones, the Angel might get upset, and he definitely didn't want to hurt the injured man's feelings.

Shrugging, Arthur took another scone, cut it in half, and spread butter over the halves before biting into one of them, his eyes closing in obvious delight. Alfred watched in disbelieving silence—the Angel had to have jaws of steel and a stomach like a tank to eat so many of those rocks in one sitting. Al had managed to eat one, while Arthur had eaten at least four by this point and clearly thought they were perfect. That was fine with Al. The Angel could have all the scones to himself if he liked them so much. Alfred had no intentions of forcing himself to eat another one unless he had no other options.

"So, Arthur, what would you like to do today?" the tall blond asked after a moment, leaning back in his chair comfortably.

The Angel shrugged. "What else is there to do but watch TV?"

"We could go for a walk or something, since it isn't cold enough to snow yet and it isn't supposed to rain tonight. There's a park nearby that we could go to, if you want."

Going outside, farther than the front step? Arthur smiled. "I'd really like that. Thank you."

Unable to help himself, Alfred grinned, blue eyes twinkling. "Then we'll go after we clean up. I don't have to work tonight, so there's no rush, either."

Arthur perked up, his excitement making Alfred chuckle. "Really? That's great. It'll be nice not to be here by myself tonight."

That comment made Al feel just a bit guilty for having left the Angel on his own, especially after how terrified he'd been from the storm. "I'm sorry about that, but we'll hang out tonight, and after our walk I'll check to see how your burn is healing."

"Okay."

They smiled at each other, sapphire eyes meeting emerald ones for a moment before Arthur went back to eating his scone. Al thoughts wandered to the park, trying to decide where exactly he would take Arthur during their walk. There was one spot in particular he thought the Angel would enjoy, and he began to feel a little bit impatient for Arthur to finish eating so they could go. However, he forced himself to be patient and wait. He'd told Arthur there was no rush, so he relaxed in his chair and waited, taking this quiet time just to enjoy the other man's presence while it lasted.


	10. Chapter 10

There was only word that described how Alfred felt at this particular moment: pathetic. At least, that was how he felt. Not for any real reason, other than that he couldn't seem to keep his mind out of the gutter for more than ten minutes at a time, despite his "adventure" in the shower that morning. By all logic he should have been fine after that—he should have been relaxed and calm and controlled and even a little tired for the rest of the day. But he wasn't. And it was all Arthur's fault.

_No, don't blame him. It's not like he purposefully turned me on then pretended not to. He'd never do anything liked that. This is my fault for being so damn perverted._

Really, he wasn't even being that perverted. He wasn't imagining pinning Arthur to that tree and kissing him until his knees gave out, or dragging him behind that bush and doing unspeakable things to him. In all actuality, he was behaving himself as the two men walked through the park, side by side. It was because he'd had to help Arthur bathe again, and then put medicine on the burn—without touching his wings this time—and after that help the Angel pick out clean clothes to wear for their walk. The combination of those things meant that he wasn't as relaxed as he'd like to be. He'd spent way too much time around a more-or-less naked Angel that day.

Now dressed in too-big tennis shoes, baggy jeans, a _Hollywood Undead_ t-shirt left over from Alfred's high school days and a navy blue jacket, Arthur looked absolutely adorable. It was driving Alfred insane, and the Angel wasn't even _doing_ anything. He was just walking along, enjoying the scenery, smiling at the birds and the squirrels that raced about in the trees. Occasionally he would hum for a few moments as he admired some late-blooming flowers or if a gust of wind ruffled his hair. In those moments, the short blond's eyes would close and he'd lift his face towards the sky, his smile turning wistful as he let the wind wrap around his small frame. Alfred could practically see the wings rustling under the two layers of clothing, begging to spread wide and catch the wind to carry Arthur away. But, of course, they remained hidden beneath the shirt and jacket. The breeze would die down, and Arthur would open his eyes with a longing sigh that just about broke Alfred's heart.

"You, uh, miss your home, huh?" he asked quietly, glancing at the man beside him for what must have been the fiftieth time since they'd left his apartment and walked to the park.

"Well, of course. I miss my friends, and my home. I miss flying." Another heart wrenching sigh. "But my back will be healed enough for me to fly in a couple of days, and I'll be able to go home."

"Only a couple days? That's…great. Yeah." Did he sound as pitiful as he felt? Probably, and even if he didn't, the Angel could probably sense how unhappy the thought of him leaving made Alfred, even though he didn't show any sign that he did.

"Yes, and I'm looking forward to it, though I am going to miss you, Alfred."

He was? "Really? But you've only known me for, like, four days."

The Angel chuckled. "I'm immortal, remember? Time doesn't mean very much to my kind. Besides, after all you've done for me, I won't forget you so easily as to not miss you. These last few days have been surprisingly pleasant." He looked up and smiled at Alfred. "I'm very glad to have met you, you know."

The American grinned. "Just don't get struck by lightning if you ever want an excuse to visit, okay?" he teased, and was delighted to see a light blush heat the Angel's cheeks.

"I'll keep that in mind."

In companionable quiet, the two continued along the path that wound through the trees, occasionally passing by someone else or stopping to watch the small animals that lived in the park. Arthur was clearly enjoying his time outside the apartment, and that was enough for Alfred to put up with the stupid images his perverted brain kept coming up with. It was easier to ignore them when the Angel was being so innocent, so over time they became rarer and rarer until, eventually, they stopped altogether, and Alfred was finally free to relax and enjoy the walk the way he'd meant to in the first place.

Arthur tensed when something touched the small of his back, but he relaxed again when he realized it was only Alfred's hand—the human was being especially careful not to touch the part of his back where his wings and burn were hidden.

"There it is."

Following the blue-eyed gaze, the Angel saw what Alfred was talking about. Off to the side of the path, there was a small hill, higher than the rest of the park but still relatively small, with a single, huge old tree sitting on top of it. Beneath the tree was a park bench. There was no path leading up to it, as if it wasn't a popular enough spot for the park to pay for a paved sidewalk, but Arthur thought it looked like a lovely place to sit and rest for a while.

"Is that where we're going?" he asked, conscious of the fact that Alfred's hand was still touching his back and that if he let it drop only a couple of inches he'd have a firm grasp of Arthur's—

_No, stop right there!_

Moving forward so that he was no longer in contact with the taller man and thus would be able to think clearly, Arthur looked towards the tree-topped hill. "It's beautiful."

"Just wait 'til you see the view," Alfred replied, seeming not to notice the way his companion moved away from him. He led the Angel off the path and up the hill, straight towards the tree and its bench. They reached it after only a few minutes, and Alfred looked up at the tree fondly as Arthur moved to sit on the bench.

"You were right."

Alfred turned. "What?"

Smiling, Arthur gestured out towards the rest of the park laid out below them and the cityscape beyond that, even though the hill they were on wasn't very big. "The view is incredible."

"I knew you'd like it," the American responded, smiling as he sat beside the Angel and draped his arm along the back of the bench. Part of him wanted to wrap his arm around the petite man's shoulders, but that probably wasn't a good idea, so he resisted and settled for the back of the bench behind where the Angel was sitting.

"Alfred."

"Yeah?"

"Are you ill?"

Confused, Alfred looked at the man beside him to see worried green eyes looking back. "No, why?"

"You were acting odd this morning. I wondered if you weren't feeling well, and that's why you rushed into the bathroom the way you did, and why you were in there for so long."

Shit.

"N-no, I'm not sick."

"You sounded like you were in pain."

_He heard me!? Come on, you…you gotta be…ugh. This can't be happening. Seriously. Just…fuck everything. There's no way he really doesn't know what I was doing. Stay cool, Alfred. Act like nothing's wrong. He doesn't have to know I was thinking about him while I did it._

Alfred forced a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his head. "Pain? I wouldn't say that, exactly."

"Then what would you say? I was really worried, but you said you were okay before so I didn't want to bother you."

This Angel was too polite for his own good. Or maybe he wasn't polite enough. Was it rude to bring up that he'd heard the man he was living with masturbating, even if he didn't know what he'd heard? Alfred vaguely remembered that he hadn't cared about being overheard once he'd started to get close to his climax, but now that he was finding out that Arthur had actually heard him, he wished he'd forced himself to be quieter.

_I'll have to bite my wrist or something next time. No, no. There won't be a next time, Alfred. You're not doing that again. Once was bad enough. Focus on earning your way out of hell into purgatory and then maybe into heaven. Though you don't have much chance of making it to heaven if you keep imagining banging him._

"It's…not really something I want to talk about," the blue-eyed American mumbled, looking away awkwardly. He took his arm off the back of the bench and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. It was a more defensive posture than he really intended it to be, but he found he couldn't meet the other man's gaze while they were on this topic.

Arthur huffed, becoming annoyed. "I know something's bothering you, Alfred. Why don't you want to tell me what's wrong? I _am_ an Angel, so don't forget that it's my job to help people."

"Nothing's wrong."

"I bloody know something's wrong! I can feel it, you miserable yank!"

Startled, Alfred sat up and stared at the Angel beside him. He wasn't offended with having been yelled at, or with being called a "miserable yank"—even when he was angry, Arthur's accent was too cute to be offensive—but he definitely hadn't expected such an outburst from the usually calm, cheerful man. Green eyes clouded, Arthur glared back at him with his arms crossed over his chest. His back was straight as a pole since he couldn't lean back against the bench and he didn't want to slouch, making him look stiff and determined. Alfred sighed.

"Really, Arthur, nothing's wrong with me. I just…had a weird dream, and I really did need to shower."

"So what were the noises?" the Angel demanded, not about to be appeased with such a generic answer. "I couldn't tell what you were saying, but it really sounded like you were in pain."

At least he hadn't heard his name being shouted. "That…wasn't from pain…"

"Then what was it?!"

"I was jerking off, okay?" Alfred burst out, standing and turning his back on Arthur as the Angel remained seated, stunned. "I woke up with morning wood and you were sitting on me like that and I didn't want you to get freaked out so I took care of it while I showered! That's what the noises were! Now can we _please_ talk about something else?" He stood there panting lightly as Arthur stared at his back.

"It's okay, Alfred," the Angel soothed after a few moments had passed, even though he felt warm under his collar from thinking about Alfred and those noises, especially now that he knew what it was. "I was human once. I understand. Please don't be upset. I'm just glad you aren't sick or hurt."

Embarrassed, Alfred shook his head and stayed where he was, looking out over the park as if he could erase his admittance if he waited long enough before facing the object of his infatuation. Despite what Arthur said, he really didn't feel like it was okay. It was shameful and embarrassing and he couldn't believe he'd just shouted it like that for god and everyone to hear. To his surprise, he felt arms wrap around his waist and a body press against his back. Looking down, he recognized the pale, not-quite-dainty hands clasped in front of his stomach.

"Arthur?"

"I'm sorry for prying. It wasn't my place."

Alfred broke the Angel's hold so that he could turn around and meet the guilty looking green eyes. "It's okay. You were just worried about me. I can't be mad at you for that." He couldn't be mad at the Angel for anything. Arthur nodded and lowered his gaze, still upset with having forced Alfred to admit something the American was obviously uncomfortable with sharing.

Smiling now, he guided Arthur back to the bench and sat, this time putting his arm around the petite blond's shoulders without so much as a second thought. To his surprise and pleasure, Arthur leaned against him and rested his head on his shoulder; both men watched the goings on of the park in silence, both relieved to have made up so quickly after their first real disagreement.

XXX

With an expansive yawn, Arthur snuggled farther into the blanket he was currently sharing with Alfred and let his eyes fall closed as the credits began to play. He'd spent the last several hours watching movies with the American and had rarely left the couch since they'd returned from their walk during the mid-afternoon. They had been fairly quiet after the outburst on the hill, but it wasn't an uncomfortable or awkward sort of silence. They just didn't really have anything to say to each other, except for when Arthur didn't understand what was happening in a movie and Alfred had to explain it to him. It was a pleasant way to spend the second half of their day.

Now, however, it was dark outside and Arthur was ready to go to bed, but he didn't have the motivation to get off the couch and go into the bedroom. Perhaps he would just share the couch with Alfred again, although he didn't want to be the cause of another mad dash for the bathroom. Finally, after Alfred had gotten up and put the DVD they'd just finished away, the Angel managed to force himself to get up and shuffled into the bedroom to take off the borrowed jeans, shirt and jacket, and crawl into bed.

He was nuzzling into the pillow when Alfred came in and smiled at him, and he closed his eyes politely while the American changed into his pajamas. Unbeknownst to the tall blond, he peeked just enough to observe a tanned, muscular back and strong legs before a thin white t-shirt covered the torso and flannel pajama pants hid the legs.

_How does he have that much muscle? I haven't seen him work out even once._

For the first time since he could remember, the Angel felt self-conscious about his own petite frame and pale skin, but he kept his thoughts to himself and yawned again.

Lips pressed to his temple, making Arthur smile as he began to fall asleep.

"Night, Artie," came the whisper, and the Angel didn't even pause before responding.

"Night, Alfie…"

Blue eyes widened, but Alfred didn't say anything; Arthur was already fast asleep, so he snuck out of the bedroom and went to the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed.

"He called me 'Alfie,'" he told his reflection once he'd finished brushing his teeth. Normally, he hated that nickname and didn't allow anyone to call him that. He was either "Alfred" or "Al" but never, ever "Alfie." Only the way Arthur had sighed it, he couldn't even begin to mind, especially after everything else that had happened that day.

Finished in the bathroom, Alfred clicked off the lights and headed for the couch, lying down and stretching out comfortably. He didn't want to go to sleep yet, but he hadn't gotten enough sleep that morning due to the TV deciding to come to life—Arthur had told him about the power going out during dinner—and then his daydream and shower. So he was tired even though he usually stayed up on his nights off just so he wouldn't throw off his sleeping schedule.

_Maybe it'll be okay this time. Maybe being in the same apartment as Arthur will help._

There wasn't much hope, but he tried to be optimistic as he settled on the couch and closed his eyes. He just hoped he wouldn't disturb the Angel in the next room over.

Strange sounds pulled Arthur out of his dream-meadow and back into the conscious world, waking him. He'd been resting under his tree like usual, but the faint sounds had been distracting enough for him to wake up and look around the dark bedroom. There was nothing out of the ordinary, though the noises were louder now and seemed to be coming from the living room.

"Alfred?" Arthur called softly, nervous for some reason. It sounded like something was wrong, almost like Alfred was in a fight, and the Angel wasn't sure if he should go out there to find out. His mind was made up for him, however, when he heard a terrified whimper and what sounded like begging.

"Alfred!"

Just like that, the Angel was out of bed and in the living room, his eyes easily adjusting to the low light so that he could see Alfred on the couch. Worried, he knelt by the couch and peered at the sleeping American's face; every now and then, the tall blond would call out and thrash against his blanket, which he'd managed to wrap around himself. His eyes never opened but he mumbled and whimpered, frowning in his sleep. Arthur could see wet on the man's cheeks and felt a pang in his chest to realize that he'd been crying.

_He's having a nightmare or a night terror or whatever it's called._

Determined to help, Arthur lifted his hands and placed his fingers on Alfred's temples, closing his eyes and letting his mind link with the other man's.

_Terror ripped through him, making him feel raw and exposed. It was dark, too dark to see, but he knew he was far away from home. Other men were around him, shouting to each other to be heard over the booms and explosions of gunfire._

"_Alfred!" Arthur yelled, scared out of his wits by what was happening. "Alfred, where are you?"_

_A hand grabbed his, pulling him down to his knees, and he looked into startling blue eyes just barely visible in the darkness. "Arthur? What are you doing here?"_

"_I-I came to help you, but…Alfred, what is this place?" Frightened green eyes searched the shadows for some clue as to where they were, but for once his Angel abilities didn't allow him to see. He was just as blind as everyone else._

"_It…it's my memory. Of war," the dream-American admitted quietly, though Arthur somehow managed to hear him over the fighting going on around them. He was obviously just as afraid as Arthur was, so the dream-Angel tightened his grip on the hand clasping his own. It was his job to help with things like this, after all, so he wasn't about to let Alfred suffer this nightmare for another moment._

"_I'm taking you out of here."_

"_How?"_

_Arthur smiled, an out-of-place action considering the dream-war they were surrounded by. "Just trust me, and close your eyes."_

_Doing as he was told, Alfred squeezed the dream-Angel's hand for reassurance and tried to ignore the screams ringing in his ears. Suddenly, the noises of war stopped. It was quiet, and peaceful. A light breeze caressed his face._

"_Open your eyes."_

_He did, and he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "A-Arthur…how…?" Relief and disbelief washed over him and, if he hadn't already been kneeling, he'd have fallen. He stared at his surroundings with wide eyes, taking in the rolling green hills and the familiar-looking tree with its wooden park bench._

_The dream-Angel smiled again and sat by his companion, still holding his hand. "This is one of my powers as an Angel. I can connect my mind to yours in your sleep, and interact with you in your dreams. We're both asleep right now."_

"_I'm still asleep? But, the nightmare…and this looks so real…" He ran his fingers through the grass if testing its solidity._

_The shorter man chuckled and looked to where the sun was setting in the distance. "That's because I based it off that spot in the park you showed me. I figured it would be a good place for you to calm down."_

_Alfred looked towards the bench then faced the other man with earnest. "Thank you, Arthur. Really."_

"_Of course, Alfred. What was I supposed to do, sit there and watch you suffer?" The dream-Angel shook his head, smiling gently. "You looked and sounded terrified, so I had to do something. Now, if it's not too much to ask, could you explain to me what exactly you were dreaming about?"_

_The dream-man shifted uncomfortably, looking down as he fiddled Arthur's hand inside his own. "It's one of the things I've had to deal with since coming back from deployment. If I sleep at night, I have this nightmare of being in a battle and, well, you were there. You saw it. But usually, the teammate I'm with gets injured, and I have to try to carry him to safety, only I have no idea where I'm going, so I never get there in time and he dies." His voiced cracked as he spoke and he looked away, trying not to lose it. Arthur waited patiently as the dream-man took several deep, calming breaths._

"_After that, I get shot, and I wake up when I die in my dream, but first I lay there in pain and have to hope that someone will find me and help me. If I fall back asleep, it starts all over again. It's terrible, and I hate it. It's why I got a job as a night guard, so that I don't have to sleep at night."_

_Arthur spent several moments considering what he'd just been told then smiled. "If you want, Alfred, this can be your meadow."_

"_What's that supposed to mean?"_

"_It means that whenever you go to sleep, you can come here rather than experience whatever dream your subconscious comes up with. Like that nightmare. You could sleep at night with no problem and just come here instead of experiencing that battle over and over again."_

_Hope made Alfred's eyes seem even brighter than normal. "You can do that?"_

_The dream-Angel chuckled. "Of course. It's one of my most important abilities. So, do you want this meadow?"_

"_Yes, yes, yes, yes!" Overcome with gratitude and excitement, Alfred threw his arms around the dream-Angel beside him and buried his face in the golden blond hair as Arthur laughed and hugged him back._

"_Then it's yours. I don't want you to ever have to suffer that nightmare again, Alfred. Even I was afraid, and I knew it wasn't real and that I wouldn't get hurt."_

_The arms around him tightened slightly. "I'm sorry I bothered you, but I'm glad you could help. Two years of that nightmare was more than enough." He sighed quietly, holding the dream-Angel close. "Thank you, Arthur."_

_Arthur rested his cheek against the other man's chest and smiled. "You're welcome, Alfred."_


	11. Chapter 11

"Alfred."

The blond didn't move, his gaze fixed on something far away that no one else could see.

"Ve~Alfred, are you okay?"

Still no reaction.

"Hey, you American bastard, why are you ignoring us?"

A hand waving in front of Alfred's face finally brought him back to reality and he blinked a few times.

"What?" he asked, surprised to see three of his four coworkers standing around him, looking at him in concern and, in Lovino's case, irritation.

Feliciano spoke up first, his accent even more pronounced than usual. "Is everything all right, Alfred?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Vee have been trying to talk to you and you veren't responding," Ludwig explained, his forehead creased slightly.

Alfred blushed lightly and hoped his colleagues didn't notice. He'd been thinking about Arthur and hadn't even realized the other males were trying to talk to him. "Sorry. Guess I was spacing off."

"Why is your face turning red?" Feliciano asked, face morphing into a cute, puzzled frown.

"You were having dirty thoughts!" Lovino accused, making Alfred flush darker, which only confirmed the Italian's suspicions.

"N-no I wasn't! I was just lost in thought!"

"What were you thinking about?" the taller blond questioned before Lovino could start an argument.

The American hesitated. He hadn't said anything about Arthur to his coworkers and he hadn't intended to, since the Angel would be leaving soon and he wasn't sure if it was a good idea for anyone to know about his temporary roommate. Now was probably a good opportunity to keep his mouth shut.

"Nothing," he lied, "just spacing off, thinking about going home in a few hours."

"I'm going to take a bubble bath!" the happier of the two Italian's announced, smiling as his hair curl bounced. "Ludwig and I always do after work!"

All eyes turned to the German as his face turned red, though that was the only sign that he was uncomfortable with Feliciano's revelation of their routines. Oblivious, the Italian looked up at him with his usual sleepy-eyed smile, and Ludwig sighed.

"Ja, ja," he muttered, ruffling the short brunet's hair while avoiding his curl.

Lovino grumbled something that included "potato bastard" as he went to stand by Antonio where the green-eyed man sat before the monitors as he always did. The Spaniard's hand moved to the shorter male's lower back and rubbed absently, threatening to drop into a more inappropriate location at any moment. Alfred hoped it wouldn't but was strongly reminded of how he'd touched Arthur's back the day before and wondered if it had seemed as suggestive to the Angel as Antonio's gesture did to him. He really hoped not.

Suddenly, Antonio's arm snaked around the slim waist and he pulled Lovino down onto his lap.

"W-what are you doing?!" the startled Italian yelled, struggling violently. "Let me go!"

Calm green eyes landed on Alfred, Feliciano and Ludwig. "It is time for you three to make your rounds, no?"

Another confused frown appeared on Feliciano's face as he watched his surly brother continue to fight against the larger man's hold. "Ve? No, it's not."

In a flash, Alfred was out of his chair at the table and grabbing his coat as he headed for the door. Ludwig snatched his and Feli's coats from the rack and followed the American as the lovable Italian continued to frown, trailing behind them.

"But it's not time for a patrol, is it, Ludwig?" he asked as the large German put his coat on him.

"Zip zhat all zhe vay up or you'll catch a cold," said German instructed, shrugging on his own coat and ignoring his petite partner's question.

Perplexed, Feli did as he was told then put on the gloves that had been stashed in the coat's pockets. Alfred and Ludwig exchanged knowing glances. The Italian may not have understood why they left so quickly, but he would forget the entire thing before long, so there was little to no point in trying to explain to him that his brother and Antonio were likely engaged in less-than-appropriate interactions back in the security office. Besides, Lovino would be murderously pissed if he found out that they'd told his baby brother about what he did with their Spanish coworker. It wasn't worth the temperamental Italian's wrath to explain it to Feliciano.

By the time they reached the doors to go outside and spit up, Feli was indeed skipping along besides Ludwig, chatting about the cat he'd seen earlier that day as if the German hadn't been there the entire time. It made Alfred laugh and he played along, waving as the other two went off in separate directions and he began his trek along the fence to make sure everything was secure.

_That was close. I need to pay more attention or they're going to get really curious and they might trick me into saying something. Who knows what kind of trouble it could cause if someone found out about Arthur._

He took his time making his rounds just to be safe—he had absolutely no interest in walking back into the office before Antonio was finished with whatever plans he had for Lovino. That had happened once before, the first time he, Ludwig and Feliciano had been dismissed for an impromptu patrol, and he hadn't known any better. In that particular instance, he'd walked into the security office and been half out of his coat before he'd looked up and realized that the only reason it was so quiet was because Antonio and Lovino had frozen out of shock of being walked in on. Luckily, Antonio was between him and Lovino so he'd been spared the sight of the partially undressed Italian and had also been shielded from the anger and embarrassment he was sure Lovino felt. If that had happened to Alfred, he would certainly have been upset. At the time, he'd immediately spun around and left again, his cheeks flaming. Thankfully, no one had ever brought it up.

When he was sure he'd waited long enough, Alfred finished his circuit of the fence and went back inside, stomping the small amount of slushy snow that had accumulated on his boots off just outside the door. He met up with Ludwig and Feliciano in the hall and together they went back into the security office, Ludwig peeking in discreetly to make sure it was safe before the tall German held the door open for his two companions. Antonio was seated before the monitors as he always was, smiling in a self-satisfied way that made it obvious that he'd gotten exactly what he'd wanted while they were gone. On the other hand, Lovino was curled up on the couch with his face hidden, betraying his embarrassment over what had occurred regardless of the fact that no one had accidentally walked in on it this time.

Oblivious to his brother's situation, Feliciano hung up his coat and flopped down on the couch by the other Italian, talking to him in a cheery tone. Ludwig simply shook his head, amused, and chose a seat at the table instead as Alfred did the same.

"So," the taller of the two blonds began quietly, catching the American's attention, "vhat vere you so focused on earlier?"

"Ah, nothing. Just spacing off," Alfred lied again, uncomfortable under that piercing icy blue gaze.

_He knows I'm lying. He definitely knows._

To his surprise, Ludwig shrugged. "If you say so."

Alfred hid his relief and decided that now was probably a good time to change the subject. "Wanna share a bag of popcorn?"

"Sure."

Standing once again, the American fetched a bag of the suggested snack and put it in the microwave. He stood there as it slowly spun around on the thick glass plate and eventually began to pop, watching it so he could make a pained face without Ludwig seeing. When the popcorn was finished, he took it from the microwave and carefully opened it, poured it into a bowl and then placed it in the middle of the table so everyone would be able to get to it.

The security office was quiet except for Feliciano's more or less constant chatter with occasional comments by the other males. Alfred did his best not to space off again and rouse suspicion amongst his coworkers, though it was difficult seeing as his mind tried to wander into dangerous territory the moment he relaxed his concentration. His only comfort was the knowledge that he'd be going home in a couple of hours and would be able to relax and go to sleep.

Alfred was beginning to feel severely creeped out. It felt like someone was watching him, maybe even following him as he walked home at the end of his shift. Ludwig and Feliciano had offered to give him a ride, but it wasn't snowing and it was still a warm enough time of year that he wouldn't be too cold as long as he kept his hands in his pockets and zipped up his coat, so he'd declined. Now, he was really starting to wish he'd accepted.

_Calm down, Alfred. No one's following you. Why would they? You're not carrying anything of value, you've only got, like, four bucks in your wallet, and you've got a gun. There's nothing for you to be worried about. Just stay cool and get home. No need to freak yourself out._

But he couldn't help it. Maybe he was exaggerating, but he could practically _feel_ a pair of eyes drilling into his back, watching his every move, and his pace quickened into almost a slow jog as he wished more and more fervently that he'd let the German and Italian drive him home.

_Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, I'm going to get mugged. I'm going to get jumped by some crazy homeless guy and he's gonna try to steal my wallet and I'm gonna have to pull my gun on him but I don't wanna shoot a homeless guy! What if he doesn't die right away and there's no one to take him to a hospital so he just bleeds out in an alleyway or something and then I murdered someone over a few bucks!_

These panic-driven thoughts were stopped by the sight of the front door of his apartment and Alfred gratefully sped up, pulling his keys from his pocket so he'd be able to unlock the door on the move and slip inside before whatever was making him feel so damn exposed had a chance to follow him. Flawlessly, he slipped the key into the lock and twisted, simultaneously grabbing the door handle and turning it so the door swung open then stepped inside, swiftly shutting the door behind him and locking it.

He sighed in relief, the feeling of being watched fading now that he was safe in his dark apartment with Arthur sound asleep in the next room.

_See? Nothing to worry about,_ he said to himself as he began to cross the living room to go change into his pajamas. _Don't know why you were so paranoid. Why would anyone bother following you any—_

Alfred froze, tensing as the sound of someone knocking on his front door reached him. Who the hell was knocking on his door at 5:30 in the morning? If it was whoever he'd felt watching him and potentially following him, then he really didn't want to open the door. In fact, he'd rather use his couch to barricade it and pile the kitchen table and chairs in front of the window just to be safe. But rather than do that and probably end up making a lot of noise which would then disturb Arthur, he peeked out past the curtain over the window and saw a figure standing on the front step.

Tall with broad shoulders and silvery hair. Even though Alfred couldn't see the person's face, he knew who it was. The sinking feeling in his stomach knew it, too.

_Damn it, what's _he_ doing here?! How'd he even find my house?!_

He had to have been the one who was following Al home from work, which sent a shiver of fear down his spine. How had he even figured out where Al worked in order to follow him home?

"Alfred? Alfred, I know you are in there. Let me in, мой любовник. I just want to talk to you."

The American put his mouth near the crack between the door and its frame. "Go away, Ivan," he called, loud enough that he hoped the man standing outside would hear him but too quietly to wake Arthur. Had Ivan really just called him "my lover"? He may not have anything more than basic survival skills in the Russian language, but he'd known Ivan long enough to pick up on a few things, and he definitely recognized the old endearment.

"Open the door, да? I miss you, Alfred. Please."

_Maybe…maybe he's better now. He doesn't sound drunk, although that doesn't really mean anything. He never sounded drunk until right before he passed out. But he misses me? Even after all this time? Maybe he's finally changed…_

Hesitant, Alfred slowly unlocked the door and opened it to look up into the strangest but possibly the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen. They were violet, just as odd as the silver hair, and it felt like they gazed straight into his soul the moment he looked at them. A smile, sweet and innocent, made Ivan's face appear to be as naïve as a child's as he looked down at Alfred.

"Привет, Alfred," the taller man said softly, and the moment he spoke Alfred could smell the alcohol on him. Vodka, like Ivan always drank, and he immediately regretted opening the door. Despite his hope, Ivan was drunk.

"What do you want, Ivan?" he asked tonelessly, looking away from those violet eyes so they wouldn't distract him the way they always had before.

"To see you. You leave without saying goodbye, you do not tell me where you are going, you ignore my phone calls. Why?"

Alfred frowned, hating how hurt the Russian sounded, as if what he'd done was cruel. "What else was I supposed to do? You were changing, Ivan, and you didn't even realize it. You're drunk right now! How am I supposed to feel about you showing up drunk on my doorstep at 5:30 in the morning?"

"You could let me in, да?" Ivan wheedled, still smiling that innocent smile. He leaned forward like he meant to brush his lips against Alfred's, but the American leaned back out of range.

Casting a nervous glance towards the bedroom door, Al took a step back and allowed Ivan into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. "You can only stay for a few minutes, Ivan. Then you have to leave."

"But I do not want to leave. I just found you. Of course, I would be happy to go if you come with me." His large hand moved to stroke Alfred's cheek and the American brushed it away, almost angry.

"No. It's over between us and I'm not coming back. Do you even realize what you did to me? How much you hurt me?"

"Alfred…"

The blond shook his head, glaring at the floor. "Why the fuck are you here, Ivan? And don't give me that 'I miss you' bullshit because if you cared enough to miss me then you would never have treated me the way you did."

"I came to take Alfred home."

"I am home. This is my home now, okay? And you're not welcome here. Now, please, get out, go home, and leave me alone."

"Нет." Ivan was pouting now, his arms folding across his muscular chest in a way that made his biceps stand out intimidatingly. "Not without you."

"What do you mean 'no'?" Alfred hissed, afraid of raising his voice and waking the Angel in the next room. Subconsciously, he inched sideways to place himself between Ivan and the bedroom door in a move to protect Arthur even though Ivan didn't know they weren't alone in the apartment. "This is my apartment and I want you to get out, so go!"

"Нет, not without Alfred." Suddenly, Ivan's hand darted out and he grabbed Alfred's wrist, dragging the American forward until their chests were pressed together.

"Let me go, Ivan!" the blond shouted, panic making him forget about his plan to keep quiet as he felt the Russian's lips by his ear.

"You will come back with me and things will be like they were before, and you will never leave me again," Ivan whispered, a trace of a threat in his words that made Alfred shiver.

"N-no…Ivan, let me go…"

A chuckle sounded and the grip on his wrist tightened; the smell of alcohol was overwhelming in such close proximity to the Russian.

"You will never leave me again." With that, he began pulling Alfred towards the front door, apparently with every intention of forcing him all the way back to the apartment they'd shared before Alfred had moved out and rented this one.

"Ivan, stop it! Let go! I mean it! I'm not going with you!" Alfred struggled to pry the large fingers off his wrist but it was no use. Ivan had always been and still was much stronger than him, so there was little he could do but yell and curse and yank against the iron grip.

"Alfred? What's going on?"

Ivan's hand froze on the door knob and Alfred looked back to see Arthur standing in the doorway to the bedroom, green eyes blurry with sleep and hair tousled, the cotton boxers he wore wrinkled. The look on Ivan's face when he turned to face the petite Angel would have made a lesser man cringe and cower in fear, maybe even cry.

"Who is this?" he growled, squeezing Alfred's wrist so tightly it was painful.

"E-everything's okay, Arthur," Alfred lied, trying to hide his discomfort and fear as he forced a weak smile. "Go back to bed. Ivan just dropped by to chat but now he's leaving."

"Нет, I came to get Alfred, but it seems someone else already has Alfred." The Russian's tone was quiet and deadly, promising pain to anyone who thought they had more of a claim to the American than he did.

Understanding bloomed in the green eyes and Arthur straightened, his expression turning into something that resembled a glare. "Let him go," he ordered quietly, eyes never leaving Ivan's face, "before I do something you'll regret."

The Russian laughed. "You, hurt me? You are too small, and look weak. You have lowered your standards, да, Alfred?"

Arthur's glare became more pronounced and, despite his disheveled and under-dressed appearance, he looked just as intimidating as Ivan did. "I said, let him go. Alfred told you to get out, so get out, and don't come back. He doesn't want to see you anymore."

Pulling Alfred with him, Ivan took a step towards Arthur as if he meant to grab him, as well, and Arthur's wings flared out in an oddly aggressive display, similar to a dog raising his hackles or a predatory bird puffing its feathers. Ivan stopped, dumbfounded by the sudden appearance of wings on this otherwise ordinary man, and his grip on Alfred loosened enough for the American to yank his wrist free and quickly move to stand beside Arthur. He put a protective arm around the Angel's shoulders, both trying to let him know that everything was going to be okay and to let Ivan know that he was not, in fact, leaving with him. It was the wrong thing to do.

Violet eyes narrowing, Ivan rose to his full height and clenched his hands into fists. "This is why you will not come with me? This skinny little man? I could break him in half without trying!"

A harsh laugh burst from Arthur as he continued to glare at the angry Russian. "You, break me in half? I hardly think you capable of that. Now, I'm only going to say it one more time. Get out before I make you get out."

Rage is normally an emotion that makes a person's face turn red, their speech because fast and uneven and their hands tremble. Not so with Ivan. The anger seemed to drain from his face and his eyes dimmed as if he'd lost interest in the conversation, his hands hanging relaxed at his sides. But it was far from comforting. The Russian smiled slightly, a sadistic smile that chilled Alfred to the bones.

"I am not leaving without Alfred."

Faster than the American could react, Ivan lunged forward, his hands outstretched to grab him once again.

"Alfred!"

He felt himself be shoved out of the way and nearly fell but managed to regain his balance as the strangest scream he'd ever heard sounded from behind him. Turning, he saw the last thing he'd ever wanted to happen. Arthur had pushed him out of the way of Ivan's lunge and had therefore been caught instead, but it wasn't his arm or shoulders that were trapped in the Russian's powerful grip. It was his wing.

Fear and pain radiated from the Angel's very pores and his free wing fluttered feebly, though the rest of Arthur's body remained perfectly still, like a rabbit that freezes in the hopes of going undetected by predators. The smile on Ivan's face widened into a cruel grin.

"These are impressive. Very realistic. Was Alfred trying a game with his new lover?" he asked, his tone making Alfred feel sick to his stomach. "Does Alfred have a fetish for angel costumes?"

"Let him go, Ivan. He has nothing to do with this."

"He is the reason you will not leave with me." His grip tightened on the wing and Arthur whimpered pitifully. "He has everything to do with this. You will not leave with me? Then I will make him want to leave you."

The next thing Alfred heard was a snapping sound followed by the most terrible scream he had ever heard in his life. It tore at him like a feral beast and he stared in horror as Arthur's now broken wing fell from Ivan's grasp and the petite Angel collapsed, still screaming as tears poured down his face. Ivan stared, stunned at the sight before him, at the blood staining the feathers where the edges of the bone had broken the skin.

"But…but it is a costume…how is he bleeding…?"

A clicking sound was barely audible over Arthur's cries and the Russian looked up to find Alfred pointing a gun at him, already cocked and with his finger on the trigger.

"A-Alfred?"

"Get out."

Never before in his life had Alfred been so angry, so enraged, so furious as to point a gun at someone without his own life being in danger first. He didn't like guns and only carried one because it was part of his job, though he'd hoped he would never have to use it. But this was different. This was Arthur, _his Arthur_, broken, bleeding and crying on his living room floor, all because of the man standing before him.

"Alfred, I did not mean to, you must believe me, I—"

"I said get out!" Alfred roared, shoving the barrel of the gun under Ivan's chin so that the Russian paled even more than usual. With his free hand, Al shoved him back towards the door and kept pointing the gun at him until the man was outside and standing in the street, his hands raised in surrender. The American's tone was like ice when he spoke. "Get out of here, Ivan, and I swear to God, if you ever come back or bother me or Arthur again, I'll shoot you. I'll shoot you somewhere that won't kill you right away, but somewhere that means you'll be dead in a few hours after the worst pain you'll ever feel, and that's a promise. Now go."

Ivan looked like he wanted to say something else, but the expression on Alfred's face made it clear that now was not the time, and he turned and ran off down the street. The moment he was gone, Alfred turned around and went to Arthur as fast as he could, carelessly dropping the gun as he did so.

Falling to his knees, he glanced at the broken wing then focused on the Angel's face, panic rising in his chest to see that what little color Arthur's cheeks usually had was gone, and his green eyes looked dull and lifeless. "Arthur? Arthur, can you hear me? It's Alfred. It's gonna be okay, Arthur." He hesitated for a moment then carefully, so carefully, picked Arthur up and carried him into the kitchen. Even though he tried not to jostle the wing too much, Arthur cried out as he was being moved and again when he was set on the kitchen table, fresh tears following the tracks led by those that had come before.

"It's okay, Arthur. I'm going to take care of you. Everything's going to be okay," Alfred attempted to soothe the twice-injured Angel as he retrieved his medical kit from above the fridge. Moving quickly, he washed his hands in the sink then disinfected the wing where the skin had broken, cleaning up as much of the blood as possible. Arthur whimpered at the sting of the antiseptic, his fingernails biting into the table as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Shhh….you're okay, Arthur. It's all right. I'm gonna set the bone now, okay? It's gonna hurt, Artie, but I promise it'll be all right. You just gotta trust me." Alfred took a deep breath then carefully gripped the wing on either side of the break, wrenching a painful groan from the Angel, and with a powerful yank and twist, forced the pieces of bone back together in their proper places.

Another scream ripped from Arthur's throat and his entire body went rigid, and even though it absolutely destroyed him to hear the Angel in so much pain, Alfred didn't pause before binding the wing tightly and using the neck of a broken umbrella he found in the closet as a makeshift splint. He worked as fast as he could, taping gauze over the broken skin after the splint was secure, all the while talking to Arthur in an attempt to keep him calm.

"All done, Arthur. You're gonna be fine." Alfred washed his hands again before stroking the Angel's cheek tenderly, brushing the golden blond hair back from those emerald eyes. "The bone's set and I put a splint on it, and the cuts are sterilized and protected. Your wings gonna heal up in no time."

The Angel didn't respond, though judging by the way he was panting and lying on the table as if he was using every last ounce of his strength just to keep from passing out.

"God, Artie, I'm so sorry. I never should have let him in, and then you saved me from him and I let you get hurt like this…I'm so, so sorry…" he apologized quietly, kneeling by the table so he was at eye level with the petite man

"It…it's okay…Alfred…"

"No, no, it's not okay. I'm supposed to be taking care of you while your back heals and I let my ex-boyfriend walk right in and then he broke your wing cause he thought we were a couple or something. But I'm going to take care of you. I promise. I won't let anything else happen to you, Arthur."

The Angel smiled weakly and reached for Alfred, his hand trembling and lingering tears still wet on his cheeks. "I…believe you…"

Without even a pause, Alfred took that pale, trembling hand in his own and kissed Arthur's fingers, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He held it until Arthur gave a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes, either falling asleep or fainting, Alfred didn't know, but he waited until the Angels' breathing steadied and deepened before gently carrying him in into the bedroom and tucking him in bed. It felt oddly similar to that first morning when he'd found the Angel, but this time, rather than change and go sleep on the couch, Alfred traded his uniform for his pajamas then slipped into bed, lying close to Arthur and taking his hand once again.

"I know you can't hear me, Arthur, but I love you," he whispered. "Even though I haven't known you for very long, and you're an Angel and I'm human and we'll never be together, I love you."

He kissed Arthur's hand again before closing his eyes and letting himself fall asleep, content that his confession was the last thing he said before drifting off.


	12. Chapter 12

"_Romulus!" The cry echoed over the hills of his meadow, shill and desperate. "Romulus!"_

_Not strong enough to stand even now, Arthur kneeled in the tall grass with his face towards the sky and continued to call out the name of his friend and mentor, both out loud and with his mind, hoping desperately that the Angel was sleeping and would hear him._

"_Romulus, please! I want to come home! I can't do this!" he shouted just before breaking down in sobs, every little movement sending a wave of pain that radiated from his broken wing. Even though Alfred had set the bone and put a splint on it, the pain was still there and as excruciating as ever. It was worse than the lightning strike by far—it was the worst pain he'd ever experienced in all his years of existence. "Please…don't leave me here…"_

"_Arthur," a quiet voice soothed, and he felt a hand on his shoulder._

_Lifting his face to see Romulus kneeling beside him, Arthur threw himself at the other dream-Angel, clutching at his robes and crying against the larger man's chest._

"_Shhh…there, there," Romulus murmured, casting his gaze over the makeshift splint on his friend's wing. "What happened, Arthur?"_

_Clumsily, the blond dream-Angel picked up the brunet's hand and pressed it to the side of his head, closing his eyes. Like before, Romulus instantly found himself seeing through Arthur's eyes, starting with the moment the petite Angel had woken to the sounds of Alfred shouting in the living room. He didn't bother turning on the lights as he wandered to the door and left the bedroom, freezing in confusion at the shock of seeing a large, strange man dragging Alfred out of the apartment. The moment Arthur realized what was happening, Romulus felt an icy rage strike him, and he was surprised at the violent impulses the blond Angel had held back during the confrontation with this strange Russian who was apparently called Ivan._

_Then it happened. Romulus had to hold back his own cries when he felt Ivan's hands on Arthur's wing, felt the grip slowly tightening and twisting slightly before that horrible wrench that sent bolts of pain through his body, so strong that he felt paralyzed by it. The memories after that were fuzzy, and Romulus understood perfectly. He himself had never broken a wing, but reliving Arthur's experience was more than enough for him to understand, and he felt immense gratitude towards Alfred for being so quick and gentle in setting the wing and bandaging it. When the memory ended, he let his hand fall from Arthur's head and cradled the blond to his chest, sighing_

"_Oh, Arthur…I am so sorry…"_

_He held the smaller dream-Angel until Arthur's breathing calmed, then he tenderly wiped the tears from his friend's face and let him sit in the grass, side-by-side. They were quiet for a while as Arthur tore out individual stalks of the grass, an uncharacteristic thing for him to do since normally he was so protective of every blade of grass and every leaf of his meadow. Tearing up the grass was exactly the opposite of his usual behavior._

"_I want to come home," he said eventually, voice hoarse from all the crying he'd done. "I like Alfred and I'm grateful to him, and I don't blame him at all for what that bastard did to me, but I don't think I can stay on earth any longer than I have. First the lightning and now this…if I stay too long, I may end up damaged beyond repair."_

_Romulus was quiet a moment longer as he considered the blond's words. "I'm sorry, Arthur, but I don't know if we'll be able to get you out. Even if you find a way to let the other Angels know where you are, it would take at least four to bring you back to heaven without further damaging your wing, and with no storms coming within the next several weeks, we won't have the proper cover for so many Angels to be in one place at the same time. They'd be bound to be noticed, and that would draw unwanted attention to Alfred. Eventually, someone would discover the truth."_

_Even though Arthur knew the older dream-Angel was right, he didn't like to hear that he would be on earth for at least several more weeks. He'd only been there for four days and some lunatic had broken his wing because he thought Arthur was sleeping with Alfred! Though, considering that Arthur had been sleeping in the American's bedroom and wearing his boxers, it wasn't a completely baseless assumption. This train of thought made the dream-Angel consider something else._

_Ivan. The man who had broken his wing was, by all evidence, Alfred's ex-boyfriend. It was hard to see Alfred with someone so volatile as Ivan—the man had reeked of alcohol and his indiscriminate aggression towards both Alfred and Arthur was contemptible. A man like that didn't deserve someone as kind and amiable as Alfred. Or was Arthur simply displeased by the thought of the American being in a relationship with someone? No, no, that wasn't it. It couldn't be. Of course Alfred could date whoever he wanted. Obviously, he'd had feelings for Ivan at some point in the past and while the Russian's attachment was still there, Alfred was no longer attracted to Ivan._

_A small part of Arthur celebrated a vicious sense of satisfaction at that realization, though he did his best to smother it with the reminder that he had no claim to Alfred and he shouldn't let himself think that he did. Still, he was glad that the American had chosen to leave Ivan for what was almost definitely a better life._

"_I can feel your discontent, Arthur. Is it from something more than that you wish to return home?" Romulus asked quietly, glancing at the green-eyed dream-Angel beside him._

"_Oh, uh, yes," the blond admitted, flushing slightly—he'd completely forgotten that he was around someone who could sense his emotions since he was already accustomed to Alfred not being able to. "I was thinking about Alfred's relationship with Ivan."_

_With a knowing smile, Romulus leaned back on his hands and looked up at the clouds, watching them lazily. "What about it?"_

"_I'm surprised Alfred was ever with a man as violent as that Russian."_

"_But you don't really know that much about either of them," the older dream-Angel reminded him. "Who is to say that Ivan was the way he is when they began their relationship? What makes you think Alfred didn't try to help him before leaving him?"_

_Suspicious now that perhaps Romulus knew more than he was letting on, Arthur glanced at his companion before sighing, the movement of his ribs making his wing ache sharply before the pain faded back into a dull throb. "I suppose you're right. As usual."_

_Romulus chuckled. "When you're around as long as I have been, you start to see things a little differently. Now, rest, my friend. You've gone through a terrible ordeal today. When you wake, give my thanks to Alfred for taking such good care of you." He waited for Arthur to nod then vanished, leaving the green-eyed dream-Angel alone in his meadow with only his thoughts and the sounds of birds and the wind for company._

"_I'm not jealous," Arthur whispered to himself after he'd been sitting there thinking for quite a while. "There's no reason for me to be jealous."_

_Despite his claim, the dream-Angel couldn't help but think of the Russian's physical appearance and envy the man's stature; his height and strength were two things Arthur definitely lacked, and he had such strange eyes. Little wonder Alfred had been attracted to him, regardless of his drinking habits and other personality quirks._

"_I'm strong, though. I'm an Angel. I could defeat Ivan in a fight."_

_That didn't make him feel any better about his lack of physical muscle—most of his strength came from his magic. If Alfred could have someone like Ivan, why would he ever be attracted to someone like Arthur?_

"_And there I go again, worrying what he thinks of me!" the dream-Angel burst out in frustration. "It doesn't bloody matter if he finds me attractive! I'm an Angel! He's human! It doesn't matter!"_

_Disgusted with himself for being so pathetic, Arthur carefully turned and settled on his stomach, his cheek pillowed on his arms, and closed his eyes. If he couldn't keep his thoughts from wandering back to the American, then maybe he should stop thinking completely, and without wasting another moment, he let himself sink into unconsciousness for the second time since being struck by lightning._

XXX

Arthur was still asleep when Alfred woke during the early afternoon, and the American was pleasantly surprised to find the Angel snuggled comfortably against him. It made him want to lie in bed all day and not think of anything but the man by his side, but he couldn't do that. His stomach was demanding food, and he desperately needed to go to the store. Besides, he had work that night and would eventually need to shower.

With a regretful sigh, he carefully shifted away from the still-sleeping blond and got out of bed, stretching extensively once he was free of the blankets. He had to admit, despite the chaos of that morning, he'd slept exceptionally well. The credit for that went straight to Arthur, and Alfred found himself smiling as he left the bedroom and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He showered as well then dressed as quietly as he could once he'd returned to the bedroom in order not to disturb Arthur. The last thing the Angel needed was to have his rest interrupted by a clumsy American making too much noise, and Alfred had no intentions of bothering him.

Clean and dressed, he ventured into the kitchen for a bite of breakfast then grabbed a small notepad and a pen from the drawer by the fridge.

Dear Arthur, he began, smiling slightly at the sentiment.

Sorry to leave you on your own, but I had to run to the store to grab a few things. I shouldn't be gone for more than an hour or two, so if you wake before I get back, don't worry. We'll have lunch whenever you're feeling up to eating so try and decide what you want. If you really don't want to be alone tonight, I'll call in sick to work and stay with you. See you in a bit!

-Alfred F. Jones

Leaving the note on the nightstand where the Angel would easily find it if he woke before Alfred got back, he put on his shoes, grabbed his favorite bomber jacket, keys, wallet and phone and left the apartment. He made sure the door was locked then started off down the street, walking quickly so the trip wouldn't take as long. Even though he'd left the note, he didn't like the thought of Arthur waking up alone and hurt in the dark apartment, so he moved as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself as he walked the few blocks to the local shopping market.

First things first, he needed to buy more bandages and disinfectant if he was going to properly care for Arthur's broken wing, so he headed straight to the back of the store where the pharmacy and medical supplies were. Ignoring the strange and curious looks he was getting, the American filled his cart part of the way with several large boxes of gauze and medical tape and several more boxes of various healing salves and disinfectants—he didn't know for sure what would work the best, so his logic was to buy several kinds and try them all until he found the best combination.

Once he was satisfied that he had plenty of supplies to care for his injured friend, he moved on to the food section of the store and gathered groceries such as fruits and vegetables, some uncooked noodles, a few cans of whatever and anything else he remembered he was running low on at home. He then made a special side trip to pick up tea. There was just one problem: he had no idea what type of tea Arthur liked or if he'd ever even had tea that came in boxes with individual tea bags that just had to be soaked in hot water for a few minutes. Did they use actual tea leaves in heaven? Would Arthur even like the brands the store had available? Alfred had absolutely no clue what tea to buy and no way of asking Arthur since one, the Angel was sleeping, and two, his apartment didn't have a phone so he couldn't contact the golden blond without going back and asking him in person.

_Well, fuck. Now what?_

Blue eyes half closed, Alfred surveyed the various brands, flavors and types of tea as if one would suddenly jump off the self into his hands as a sign that it was the brand/flavor/type he should buy. Unfortunately, that didn't happen, so Al fell back on the same technique he'd used for choosing medical supplies. He took one box of each and made his way to the front of the store to pay.

"Uh…sure got a lot of tea…and bandages…" the cashier commented awkwardly, glancing at Alfred as he rang up and bagged all the items.

Al shrugged and grinned. "Buddy of mine is visiting from England, and you know how the English love their tea." That got a laugh from the cashier. "He's pretty accident prone, so…" He gestured vaguely at the bandages and disinfectants, earning a knowing nod from the cashier, who finished bagging his things and brought up his total. It was a bit of a struggle carrying everything back to the apartment, since his multiples of tea and bandages and having to buy groceries for two people instead of one meant that he'd filled several bags when he usually only had to carry two or three. The walk back took significantly longer than the walk to the store had.

By the time he got back to the apartment, Alfred was more than ready to put the bags down and relax on the couch for a few minutes. First, though, he needed to get inside, and that's when he realized that his key was in his jacket pocket and his arms were full of grocery bags.

_Oh…maybe if I just shift…no. Ummmm let's try switching this bag over—no no no no no no! Damn, that was close! This is useless. I'm going to have to set at least two of these bags down or I'll end up spilling all of it just trying to get my key out of my pocket, forget about actually unlocking and opening the door, and that's more of a mess than I want to deal with._

Just as he was beginning to shuffle the bags in order to set them on the front step, he heard the lock click open and the door slowly swung inward to reveal a haggard-looking Arthur.

"I got your note," the Angel said quietly, holding the door open so Alfred could carry his groceries inside and to the kitchen then shutting it again behind him.

Alfred glanced at the petite man in concern. "I was hoping to make it back before you woke up."

"Couldn't sleep. Cold. Wing hurts."

"Oh."

There was definitely something seriously wrong with Arthur, something more than just his wing and back hurting him. Alfred could feel it even without the advantage of being an Angel himself, and as he put away everything he'd just purchased, he tried to figure out what it could be. Maybe he was just shaken up from that morning. Yeah, that made sense. Alfred would be out of sorts, too, if someone grabbed him and broke one of his bones as if it was nothing, and Arthur had already commented on how extremely sensitive his wings were, so Alfred couldn't even imagine how much pain the petite man must be in.

"Hey, Arthur, you want some tea?" he asked, hopeful that the prospect of tea might brighten his friend's mood. But the Angel just shrugged and moved from where he'd been standing in the doorway to curl up on the couch, leaning against the armrest with his legs pulled up to his body and his arms wrapped around his knees. It hurt Alfred just to see the man so listless.

Sighing, he finished putting the groceries away then leaned back against the counter. "What do you want for lunch?"

Another shrug—Arthur was staring out the window, his face void of any emotion. It made Alfred want to tear his hair out, but he refrained and instead went to sit by the quiet Angel, letting out a sigh of relief when he finally relaxed on the couch. Wordlessly, Arthur shifted from his place against the armrest to lean against Alfred, fingers curling into the fabric of the American's shirt as if to hold him in place. Al smiled slightly and looped his arm around the Angel's waist to share as much of his body heat as he could, and for a while they sat there together.

"I want to go home."

The words made Alfred's heart stop. Or, at least, it felt like it did. Arthur wanted to leave him? Well, not him, personally. Just earth. And why shouldn't he? He'd been attacked by Alfred's drunken ex-boyfriend and was in constant pain as a result.

"Can the other Angels come and get you?" the taller man asked, trying his best to sound like he genuinely wanted them to be able to so that Arthur could go home like he wanted, when really all he wanted to do was beg the Angel to stay with him forever.

Arthur shook his head. "Can't. No storms. Can't find me."

"I see."

"Romulus says thanks."

"What?"

Lifting his head, Arthur looked at Alfred with green eyes that weren't as clear as usual. "Romulus is the head Angel. He said to say thank you for helping me."

"You can talk to other Angels without being in heaven?"

The Angel nodded and placed his head back on Alfred's shoulder. "In my dreams. Like your meadow."

"Oh, well, next time you talk to him, tell him I said it was my pleasure."

"'Kay."

Mother of…this quieter Arthur was driving Alfred absolutely insane. He was like a shy child that was afraid to say too many words at once, and while the cuddling was cute and Al didn't mind it one bit, he was still concerned. Where was the feisty Angel that had declared his superiority over humans even though the burn on his back meant he couldn't fly? Where was the irritated swearing in that stupidly adorable accent and the eagerness to try out all these strange human things that he'd never had a chance to experience before?

"Arthur, are you okay?"

"Fine…"

_No, you're not. You are the opposite of fine. Now tell me what's wrong._

Alfred wanted to say it. He wanted to demand that Arthur tell him exactly what was wrong so that he could fix it, so he could make everything better and Arthur would smile and joke with him and sometimes get flustered and blush like he had before. That was the Arthur he wanted to spend his day with, the Arthur he'd admitted he loved just that morning.

_But he is that Arthur,_ he told himself as he rested his cheek on the top of the Angel's golden blond head. _He's that Arthur with a broken wing and no way of getting home. This isn't going to be easy for him, Al. Just be here for him. Don't push him. He'll open up when he's ready, so you just be ready to listen when that happens._

Yeah, he could do that. He could be the patient, supportive friend that Arthur needed right now. Hell, he'd done it before, hadn't he? Plenty of times he'd had friends injured in battle who had seemed to shut down for a few days in the early part of their recovery and only returned to normal when they were close to being fully recovered. Losing his wing, even temporarily, had to be one of the worst things Arthur had ever gone through, and Alfred wasn't about to be the insensitive jerk that tried to pretend everything was fine when it wasn't. He wouldn't do that to Arthur.

_You were the hero once, Alfred. It's time to do it again._

But this time was a little different. This time, there were no enemies, no guns or bombs or mines. This time it was just him and Arthur, and he was going to get Arthur home even if that meant losing the Angel forever.


	13. Chapter 13

Enough was enough.

"Arthur."

The Angel stirred slightly but didn't otherwise respond, and Alfred's frown deepened. It had been three days since Ivan had followed Al home from work and ended up breaking Arthur's wing, and the Angel still wasn't talking. In fact, each of the last three days had earned fewer and fewer words from the injured man. There were dark circles under his eyes that made Alfred think he wasn't sleeping at night, and he was pretty sure the Angel hadn't been bathing. He certainly wasn't eating enough—Al could barely get him to eat more than a few bites per meal. Every night, he offered to call into work and tell them a personal emergency had come up and he didn't know when he'd be able to come back to work, but each time, Arthur just shook his head and went back to staring out the window. And Alfred was getting fed up with it all.

Wasn't it enough that he spent his time at working worrying that he'd come back to an empty apartment? That he was terrified Arthur would simply wander out the front door and disappear while Alfred was in the shower or cooking or gone? He'd thought the Angel would at least take care of himself, but Arthur seemed to have lost his desire to live at all. It was as if he no longer cared about getting better and was content to waste away in his own misery until there was nothing left of him, but Alfred wasn't about to let that happen. Not when he'd so recently admitted how he really felt.

Sighing, the tall blond pushed away from the doorframe he'd been leaning on and went to where Arthur was curled up on the couch in the same spot he always chose.

"Arthur," the American said again, louder this time, and the Angel actually glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Arthur, look at me."

It took a moment, but, slowly, Arthur turned his head and looked up at Alfred with dull, bloodshot green eyes. The Angel was even paler than usual and his cheek bones stuck out painfully. Without even pausing to consider his decision, Alfred scooped the smaller man into his arms and carried him towards the bathroom. Arthur didn't struggle; he simply leaned against the American's chest and allowed himself to be moved. There was a time when being picked up like this would have made him blush and stutter and curse and fight, but he didn't do anything as he was taken into the bathroom and gently placed on the counter.

Turning, Alfred filled the bathtub with warm water then added soap, swishing it around with his hand so the bubbles floated around on the surface. Once the bathtub was filled to the right level, the American turned back to where Arthur was sitting listlessly on the counter, leaning back against the mirror with his eyes mostly closed. The sight made Alfred's heart hurt, and he took the Angel's face into his hands, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs.

"Arthur, please, talk to me. Tell me what I can do to help you get better. I hate seeing you like this. It's killing me. Please."

When the Angel didn't respond, Alfred sighed and patiently began stripping the smaller man. Arthur didn't even seem to care, and that scared Alfred. There was nothing sexual about what he was doing—he'd been too busy worrying about the Angel to fantasize about him, and he could hardly look at the man he was taking care of for fear that it would break him.

Alfred stripped off his own shirt so it wouldn't get wet and carefully set Arthur in the bathtub, arranging the Angel's limbs so he was comfortable. A sigh escaped him as he took the cup from by the sink and filled it with clean water.

"Tilt your head back." Arthur silently did as he was told, and Alfred poured the water over the Angel's hair, letting rivulets of water run over the pale face. He did this several times, until the lank blond hair and thin body were thoroughly wetted, then picked up his bottle of shampoo and began to lather it into Arthur's hair.

"Mm…"

Surprise made Alfred's blue eyes widen slightly. Had Arthur just made a noise without being spoken to first? Eager now, he continued washing the Angel's hair, letting his fingers massage the scalp they found, and discovered that he was smiling. Arthur's eyes had fallen closed, but he didn't look as listless as before, just relaxed.

Finished with the Angel's hair, Alfred rinsed his hands off then picked up a rag and his bar of soap, using both to wash the body before him. Arthur turned and shifted as he was told, even going so far as to lift his legs, one at a time, out of the water so the American could wash his feet. His back was saved for last, and Alfred delicately cleaned the burn, careful not to touch either of the wings.

"Arthur?"

The Angel looked up at him but didn't say anything, his eyes looking a little livelier than before.

"How do I wash your wing?"

"…rinse…clean water…"

Nodding, the American picked up the cup again and filled it with fresh water as Arthur slowly spread out his unbroken wing. Without touching the sensitive appendage, Alfred poured cup after cup of clean water over the white feathers, watching in fascination as the water beaded and ran down the feathers, rinsing any dirt off of them as it did so. By the time he finished, the wing was practically glowing. It made Arthur's broken wing look sadder by comparison.

"Arthur, I know it's gonna hurt, but can you spread your other wing a little so I can clean it? I'll put fresh bandages on it as soon as your bath is done, and I bought some painkillers on my way home this morning if you want to try taking a few."

There was no verbal response, but the wing in question haltingly opened, and Alfred smiled.

"Thank you." He was even more careful with this wing than the other one, though he made sure to rinse out all the dried blood he'd missed the first time he'd bandaged it. Once it was clean, the wing didn't look to be in nearly as poor of condition as it had previous to the bath.

The quiet sound of water moving caught the American's attention, and he peered over Arthur's shoulder to see that the Angel had begun playing with a few of the larger bubbles floating on top of the water. It was such a simple thing for him to do, but the sight made Alfred smile wider than he had in days. Not wanting to disturb the Angel, he silently began to rinse the petite man off with more cupfuls of clean water.

Arthur patiently waited, playing with the bubbles, then lifted his arms to be helped out of the bathtub when he knew Alfred was finished rinsing him off. Out of the tub, he actually managed to stand on his own as he was toweled off, and caught site of himself in the mirror for the first time. His reflection horrified him, though he knew it wasn't nearly as bad as it would have been if he'd looked previous to his bath. Still silent, he allowed Alfred to sit him down on the toilet and waited as the American took something from under the sink, which was soon revealed to be a bottle of scentless lotion. It seemed a little odd, until the blue-eyed man squirted a bit onto his palms and began rubbing it onto the Angel's shoulders and down his arms. The feel of Alfred's hands was pleasant enough that Arthur forgot about the lotion completely and closed his eyes, sighing softly.

No one had ever taken care of him like this, not for a very, very long time. Every pass of the American's palms against his skin made him relax more, until he knew he must be like putty in Alfred's hands, but he didn't care. He let himself enjoy it and lost himself in the touches traveling down his arms and over his hands, back to his shoulders, over his chest and stomach and sides, his hips and thighs and down his legs as Alfred rubbed the lotion into just about every inch of his skin. Hands gripped his sides and turned him to expose his back, and then those strong, warm hands were rubbing on his neck and the uninjured portion of his back until all but his injury and towel-clad groin had been tended to.

"Alfred…"

Concerned blue eyes met his gaze and one of the American's hands touched his cheek. "Yeah?"

"Thank you…"

A fond smile that made his heart flutter slightly. "No problem, Artie. I promised to take care of you, so that's what I'm gonna do."

Arthur nodded weakly, what little energy he had quickly leaving him, and slouched forward with a sigh. "Tired…"

"No kidding. You look like you haven't slept at all the past few nights."

"Haven't."

Well, that confirmed Alfred's suspicions. "Why not?"

The Angel didn't respond, and Alfred held back a sigh. He didn't want to push Arthur too hard, especially when the petite man was even more delicate than usual. So he put the lotion away, drained the bathtub, threw the dirty clothes out the door towards the laundry pile, then once more picked the Angel up, cradling him to his chest protectively. Careful not to jostle the injured wing, he carried Arthur into the kitchen and set him on a chair before taking his accumulated medical supplies off the fridge and gently changing the bandages on the wing. Burn gel was applied to the almost-healed lightning-shaped scar that was all that was left of the Angel's original wound, and Alfred had to admit that it was actually pretty cool looking. Who knew that being struck by lightning left a scar that looked like lighting? He kept his thoughts to himself as he worked and kissed the top of Arthur's head when he was finished with the wounds.

"I'll be right back." The Angel nodded, and Alfred went into the bedroom to pick out clean clothes for his friend to wear. While there, he stripped the sheets and blankets from the bed, as well as the pillowcases, and added them to the growing laundry pile before helping Arthur dress. Leaving him there to rest, Alfred put his sheets and other bedding into the washing machine and started it so that he could have it dried and back on the bed before he had to leave for work.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, looking over in time to see Arthur shake his head no, but he heard the Angel's stomach growl unhappily. "Liar. You'll never get better if you don't eat, Arthur." Without waiting for a response, he made a bowl of chicken noodle soup and carried it into the living room to place on the coffee table, then he sat on the couch and held his arms open expectantly.

"Come here."

His tone left no room for refusal, so Arthur slowly got up from his place at the table and went to the American, sitting in the larger man's lap and curling into his usual ball. One of Alfred's arms wrapped around the petite man's waist to steady him while the other picked up the spoon that was sitting in the soup bowl. Then, one bite at a time and with lots of patient, insistent coaxing, he managed to feed every last drop of the soup to the Angel.

Full and tired, Arthur leaned against the taller man, his cheek resting on Alfred's shoulder. "Mm…"

"Better?"

A nod was the only response the Angel managed as he yawned widely, and Alfred chuckled. Without dislodging the man on his lap, the American pulled a blanket over himself and Arthur then held the smaller man close just the way he'd done when the Angel had been afraid of the storm. "Go to sleep, Artie. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

That seemed to comfort the golden blond a great deal, because his green eyes closed, and moments later he was fast asleep, cuddled up against Alfred like a child. The small amount of progress he'd made in getting Arthur back to normal brought a satisfied smile to Alfred's lips and he stroked the Angel's hair comfortingly.

"I love you, Artie," he whispered, so softly that the Angel might not have heard him even if he'd been awake, "and I'm not giving up on you."

_Arthur didn't know what to do. There was nothing he could do. He was stuck on earth until further notice. He couldn't fly. His wing hurt constantly. He was hungry but had almost no desire to eat, and he'd become so unmotivated that he couldn't even bathe himself. All he could manage to do was sit on the couch and stare out the window, watching the other people in the area go about their lives. Sometimes, he picked a person and spent the whole day pretending he was him or her, just so he wouldn't have to think about his situation. Half the time, he was so busy imagining that he was someone else, he didn't realize Alfred was trying to talk to him until the American had given up. He just…felt so useless._

_Even his meadow wasn't enough to ease his mind anymore, and Arthur had traded it for a new dream, one that helped him escape how trapped he felt in his broken body. This new mental sanctuary was on top of a mountain, far away from civilization. The sky was a crystalline blue and he was above the cloud line, on a mountain peak that consisted of snow that never melted and gray rock. It was a barren, silent place, but Arthur found it oddly comforting. This was as close as he could get to the sky without being able to fly._

_Despite his lack of clothes, Arthur wasn't cold as he sat on the mountain and looked out over the clouds and distant mountain peaks that were visible. The sun was high and it kept him plenty warm, and he was still vaguely aware of being held against Alfred's chest, so the bigger man's body heat warded off the chilly mountain air. If he hadn't been so God-forsaken tired, he'd have stayed awake just to enjoy being held, but he was so tired, and having a full stomach after three days had meant it was just about impossible to remain awake, especially considering how comfortable and protected he always felt whenever Alfred decided to hold him the way Arthur knew his physical body was being held._

"_I should ask him to stay with me tonight," he said out loud, his voice echoing through the thin air. "Maybe then I'll be able to sleep." It was true, he slept much better when Alfred was nearby than when the American was gone at work. He really did want to sleep, but he just couldn't manage to. Being alone in the apartment made him feel abandoned and unwanted, which in turn made him feel guilty because he knew how much Alfred cared about him, and some tiny, spiteful part of him was angry at Alfred for letting that bastard Russian into the apartment._

"_It wasn't his fault," he reminded himself. "You're the one that pushed him out of the way, and good thing, too, because it's your bloody job to help people. If you're going to blame anyone, Arthur Kirkland, blame Ivan. He's the one that did this to you. He's the one who made it nearly impossible for you to go home."_

_But thinking about the Russian only made him wonder how he must compare to the much larger man in Alfred's eyes. Alfred was so caring and kind to him, kissing his forehead every night when he left for work, calling him "Artie" and nursing him back to health so determinedly. Then there was Ivan, the man who was obviously very strong and aggressive, who Alfred had dated. He didn't know how long the American and the Russian had dated for, but he felt like it must have been quite a while for Ivan to be so possessive of the tall blond._

"_He must think I'm weak compared to Ivan," the Angel mumbled dejectedly. "Ivan was probably the dominant one in their relationship, he probably had a job and took care of himself. I can't even take a bath on my own. What sort of waste of space am I?"_

_Arthur sighed and shifted on the rock he was sitting on as a breeze ruffled his hair. There was no point in comparing himself to Ivan, so why did he bother? Why should he want to be like that drunken git, anyway?_

"_Because he had Alfred." The words were barely more than a whisper and almost vanished completely in the wind. "He had my Alfred."_

_At least he could admit it to himself, now. He liked Alfred more than he should, and it wasn't just because the American was being so kind to him. That was only part of it. The rest was hard to explain, almost impossible, actually. Arthur hadn't been attracted to anyone in an extremely long time and he didn't know how to go about it, so he figured it was best if he kept his feelings to himself. What could he do, anyway? Confess to the human that he was jealous at the thought of him having a lover? Admit that even though he wanted to go home, he loathed the idea of not being around him anymore and that conflict was only making it harder to deal with his broken wing? There was a good chance Alfred would be patient and understanding if Arthur ever did try to explain the way he felt, but he couldn't do that. It would make it harder to leave if he confessed to the American only to leave him later._

"_I can't do that. I can't."_

_The cold wind helped to soothe some of the pain in Arthur's back and wing and he sighed, examining the small rocks near his bare feet. In addition to the sense of warmth he got from his physical body being held, he could also just barely sense the concern and affection Alfred was giving off. He almost wished the human wouldn't be so open about how much he cared for the Angel. It only made it harder for Arthur to keep his feelings to himself. Even as cold and callus as Arthur considered himself to be, he _wanted _Alfred to know that he cared for him. He wanted the tall blue-eyed man to know how much he appreciated how much energy was devoted to him. But he didn't know how to do that without completely baring his soul and revealing everything there was to know about him and Angels, without admitting that he wanted to keep Alfred all to himself, forever._

"_I know he wouldn't tell anyone else our secrets, but I can't break my oaths. Even if he wanted to come back with me, I won't ask him to give up his job and friends and life. It wouldn't be fair to him and I won't do it."_

_No matter how much he wanted to._


	14. Chapter 14

For the second time that day, Alfred found himself sitting on the couch with Arthur in his lap, feeding the Angel one bite at a time. This time was more of a challenge, though, since he'd made hot dogs, macaroni and cheese and broccoli for dinner. The hot dogs and broccoli he cut up into little pieces and, in the case of the hot dog, dipped in ketchup before holding the fork where Arthur could reach it, while the cheesy noodles required a spoon. At least Arthur was more willing to eat this time and seemed stronger after his nap, much to Alfred's pleasure. The time he spent doing this was worth it if it helped Arthur recover.

Not until all the food he'd put on the Angel's plate was gone did Alfred put down the fork and rub Arthur's lower back instead, holding him close. He had to leave for work soon, but he didn't want to. Not when Arthur was finally eating and had slept. That tiny amount of progress only made him more determined to stay by the green-eyed man's side until he was recovered enough to take care of himself. He didn't want to leave and risk losing that progress. Besides, it was nice just to relax on the couch with Arthur half-dozing in his lap. The steady rhythm of the petite man's breathing was soothing and Alfred loathed the thought of disturbing him in order to get ready for work.

_Just offer to stay with him again. He'll most likely say no, but you can at least offer. That way he'll know you care even if he doesn't know how much._

"Artie?" the American said quietly, stroking the Angel's golden-blond hair.

"Hm?"

"I can call into work if you want me to, but otherwise I have to get ready to go."

Arthur hesitated for a moment before curling his fingers into the fabric of Alfred's shirt and nuzzling into his neck. "Stay."

If he was honest with himself, Alfred had to admit that he wouldn't have been able to refuse if he'd wanted to, and he definitely didn't want to. He hadn't thought it was possible for the Angel to get any cuter than he'd been before the Ivan Incident, but he'd just been proven wrong. It was very, very possible, because Alfred thought his heart might melt if Arthur snuggled any closer.

Smiling, he rested his cheek on the top of the Angel's head and hugged him carefully. "I will. For as long as you want."

_Forever,_ Arthur wanted to say. _Never leave me. Ever._ But he couldn't say that. He'd already decided he wasn't going to ask Alfred to give up his human existence, so he refrained. "Thank you," was all he said. It was probably selfish of him to ask the tall man to miss work and therefore lose out on several hours' worth of pay just so he wouldn't feel so lonely when he went to sleep, but he didn't think he'd be able to handle it if he had to spend another night alone. Not when he was so vulnerable and weak.

_Maybe he was right. Maybe I'm _not_ stronger than a human when I'm at my weakest. I certainly couldn't fight a human right now. Stupid git._ The insult held no bite, even in his thoughts, and actually possessed a fond tone that probably would have made Alfred laugh if Arthur had said it out loud.

Lips pressed to his forehead and Arthur felt himself blush as he hid his face in the American's shirt. Alfred had been doing things like that all day, constantly holding him or touching him in some way, humming, kissing his forehead or his hands. It was making Arthur feel…well, rather spoiled, and he couldn't deny that he liked it.

"You gotta let me up so I can call in, Artie."

Wordlessly, Arthur reached over and picked Alfred's cell phone up off the coffee table, handing it to the blue-eyed man.

"Oh, thanks." Alfred smiled and placed a second kiss on the Angel's forehead before flipping the phone open and calling the number he had stored under "Antonio/Office." It rang a few times before the familiar voice of the Spaniard picked up.

"_Hola, Alfred. What is it?"_

"Hey, Antonio. I can't come into work tonight. A personal emergency came up and I'm not sure when I'll be able to come in next."

"_An emergency? What's wrong? Did something happen, mi amigo?"_

"Yeah, a friend of mine got messed up in an accident and I'm taking care of him. He can't really do anything on his own so I don't want to leave him alone," Alfred explained, smiling down at Arthur as he spoke.

"_No problem, mi amigo. Tell your friend I said to get well soon, and that he is in very capable hands."_

"Will do. Thanks, man. I'll call in when I can come back to work." He hung up before Antonio could say anything else and tossed his cell phone back onto the coffee table. "My friend Antonio says to get better and that you're in good hands."

"Antonio?"

"Yeah, one of the guys I work with. He's in charge of the night shift, so he'll make sure someone covers my area while I'm gone."

Arthur nodded to show that he understood and cuddled up to the American once more, sighing quietly. He felt much better knowing that Alfred was going to be staying with him until further notice, and wanted to say something to let the taller man know it. He wasn't sure what to say, though, so he settled for resting against him and lightly tracing the pattern on his shirt. It was an emblem of some sort with the name of what Arthur assumed was a band or movie in the middle. The lines were white on the black fabric of the shirt, spreading out over the expanse of Alfred's chest.

As Arthur's finger followed the thin lines, he paid close attention to the dips and curves of the chest underneath, secretly memorizing the shape of it. He wanted to ignore the shirt and trace the hard lines of Alfred's torso, but that would certainly be inappropriate. Still, he couldn't help but revel in the easy-to-feel muscles and bones under what he knew was sunkissed skin hidden by that t-shirt.

_He really is perfect,_ the Angel thought with a sigh, abandoning his tracing and instead laying his hand flat against the American's broad chest where he could feel the strong beating of Alfred's heart. _Even if I did ask him, and he agreed to come back with me, his friends would miss him too much. Like Antonio. It wouldn't be fair to take him away from his friends. I'm an Angel. I can't be that selfish._

But damn it, he wanted to. He wanted to tell Alfred that, if he was willing, he could give up his life as a human and come back to heaven with Arthur, live there forever, immortal but not quite an Angel himself. To do so only required one thing, but it was something Arthur was sure would scare Alfred off, especially considering what he knew of Ivan. Alfred would never want to pay the price, and Arthur knew he himself was too cold and shy to be able to go through with it.

_Stop thinking about it already, you wanker. You made up your mind already; there's no point in thinking about it all the time._

"So," Alfred began, interrupting the Angel's train of thought, "since I'm not going to work, what do you want to do tonight? Watch TV?"

Arthur was quiet as he considered the question, his gaze drifting over the TV then towards the kitchen. There was something he'd always wanted to try…

"Can we…make popcorn?"

A smile tugged at Alfred's lips. "Sure. I've got kettle corn, butter, and movie-theatre style."

"And watch a movie?" The Angel's tone took on a hopeful edge as he looked up into the American's sky blue eyes, their faces almost close enough to kiss, though both men immediately shoved the thought away and mentally scolded themselves for thinking it. Alfred grinned to cover up his momentary lapse in self-control.

"Whatever movie you want."

The last thing Arthur wanted was a great deal more childish than a movie with popcorn, but he was determined to do this. It was something he'd done in his own youth with friends and he knew children still did it in modern day, so there was a good chance Alfred would be willing to do it. "And…build…a fort?"

"A blanket fort? Really?"

Alfred's astonishment made Arthur feel bad for asking, and he looked away. "Never mind. Just a movie and popcorn."

Amused, Alfred tipped the Angel's chin up so he could look into his eyes, forcibly keeping his attention away from the slightly-pouty pale pink lips and resisting the urge to kiss those ridiculous eyebrows. "We can build a fort, Artie. It's not a big deal. I was just surprised you wanted to."

"Really?"

Smiling, Alfred kissed the tip of the Angel's nose and was pleased to see a dark blush spread over Arthur's face. It was so cute when the petite man was flustered, and he was glad Arthur was making such quick progress towards recovering. He was still amazed at how much more alive the golden blond seemed after a bath, a nap and some food, but he supposed it made sense. All those things were essential to maintaining health, so he was more than willing to help Arthur with whatever he needed to ensure the Angel was healthy and happy.

"Of course. You're the guest of honor, you know, so pretty much whatever you want, goes."

That brought a smile to the Angel's face. It was a small one, and not very confident, but a smile nonetheless.

As if Arthur weighed nothing at all, Alfred stood and carried the Angel over to the table. "However, you're hurt and I don't want to risk you wearing yourself out for the sake of a fort, so you sit here and rest while I build it. Feel free to order me about—this thing's gonna be built to your specifications.

Arthur couldn't help the quiet laugh that escaped him. Him, giving Alfred orders? The idea seemed preposterous yet entertaining, and he was willing to give it a try. "Okay."

Without further procrastination, Alfred set about gathering every blanket he had and piled them on the couch before, as directed by the Angel watching him, taking the chairs from the kitchen and lining them up with the couch and TV. He then draped the blankets over the chairs to form a tunnel, and used the curtain rod to form a tent-like structure over the couch. He also moved the coffee table into the tunnel and transitioned the TV onto it so they would be able to sit in the tent and watch it without the blankets hanging too low and getting in the way. The entire process took the better part of half an hour, and Alfred was more than ready to relax and watch a movie by the time Arthur decided that the fort was up to his standards.

Grinning, Alfred picked the Angel up once more and ducked under one of the blankets before settling on the couch. "So, what movie do you want to watch?"

Lips pursed in concentration, Arthur examined the stack of DVDs set out on the coffee table for him to choose from, examining the cover art and titles and occasionally reading the back of a case to see what the movie was supposed to be about. "What's _The Avengers_?" he asked, and Alfred smiled to display the sort of perfect white teeth usually only seen in tooth paste commercials.

"It's a movie about a bunch of super heroes who all work together to beat the bad guys, but if we're gonna watch that, you gotta watch _Captain America,_ _Iron Man_ and _Iron Man 2_, _Thor_ and at least one of the _Hulk _movies," Alfred explained, which managed to catch the Angel's interest.

"Do you have those?"

"Course, sweetheart." Alfred winked playfully, and Arthur was glad it was dark enough in the fort that his blush wouldn't be too noticeable. "What kind of popcorn do you want?"

"Kettle, please." He busied himself with searching through the movies once more as Alfred went to make the popcorn, eventually locating the _Captain America_ move that was apparently required in order to watch _The Avengers._

After having stayed with Alfred for over a week now, Arthur had learned how the TV and DVD player worked, so he set about putting the disc in the player and skipping the previews until he reached the main menu, at which point he settled on the couch as comfortably as he could. The sound of popcorn in the microwave reached, along with a quiet humming that made him smile. He liked it when Alfred hummed and sang—the American had a surprisingly nice voice, which really only made it harder for Arthur to pretend he didn't like the human as more than a friend.

_I'd better heal up and get out of here before I do something stupid, like kiss that gorgeous git, or worse._

Once again, Arthur found himself thinking of something he had no right to think about: what it would be like to kiss the tall American. To press close to him and cling to him and never let go, to stare into those amazingly blue eyes before tasting those stupidly-soft-looking lips. He'd probably taste like the coffee he liked to drink while he was getting ready for work if he hadn't gotten as enough sleep the morning before. And then Arthur would finally get to memorize the shape of his shoulders and chest and stomach, run his hands over every inch of the American until he knew that tanned body as well as his own, and he would gladly let the ash blond do the same to him. He would love the way it felt, love that Alfred would hold him so close that he felt like he was the center of the human's universe.

_He would claim me and I wouldn't even mind, _he admitted to himself, absently watching the movie's menu play over and over and over. _Then he'd come back to heaven with me, and I'd never have to worry about losing him ever again._

But what if Alfred didn't want to go to heaven? It was unavoidable if Arthur's daydreams came true. The American wouldn't be allowed to remain on earth, and of course Arthur would feel obligated to fully inform the tall blond of the consequences if he ever lost so much of his self-control that he gave in and kissed the man.

_That isn't going to happen. None of it. I'm not going to kiss him. I'm not going to tell him how I feel. I'm going to recover and go home, and that'll be the end of it. He'll move on with his life and do great things like I know he's destined to, and I'll go back to the life I had before._

As much as he'd wanted to go home only a few days ago, the prospect of going back to heaven and returning to his old job with Alfred to keep him company was almost…depressing. Nevertheless, he smiled as Alfred re-entered the tent with a bowl of kettle corn in his hands and made room for the American only to snuggle close to him once he was seated.

"So, _Captain America,_ first?" he asked, putting his arm around the Angel's shoulders in a gesture of affection as he placed the bowl of popcorn in his lap where they would both easily be able to reach it.

Arthur nodded, taking a couple of the white pieces of popcorn and eating them—he smiled as the sweet flavor filled his mouth and savored it before taking another piece. A quiet sigh of contentment escaped him and Alfred chuckled.

"Don't eat it all before the movie even starts," the American teased, and Arthur looked up at him with wide green eyes.

_Fuck. Where the hell did he learn how to make puppy eyes?...damn it, that makes me want to kiss the hell out of him._

To avoid doing…that, he blew lightly on the Angel's face and chuckled when Arthur frowned and shook his head slightly as if that would rid him of the feeling of the human's breath caressing his skin.

"Whatever. Eat as much as you want. I'll make more if we run out."

Pleased with that response, Arthur settled comfortably under the American's arm as the movie began. This was perfect. Alfred was perfect. It was all brilliant, and Arthur thought the only thing that could have made him happier at that moment was if his wing and back were healed so he didn't have to worry about bumping them and causing himself pain or further injury, and at the moment, neither of those things seemed particularly important. All that mattered was that he was watching _Captain America_ and sharing a bowl of popcorn with Alfred while sitting in a blanket fort they had built, and he could have stayed like that for the rest of eternity.

Alfred had to leave the fort to refill the popcorn bowl three times during the movie, but he didn't mind. That just meant that Arthur was finally eating without being prompted or spoon-fed, and that was good enough for Al. By the time the movie was over, Arthur was barely managing to keep his eyes open, so Alfred carried him out of the fort and into the bedroom.

Finally, he had the opportunity to tuck the Angel into bed, and even though Arthur wasn't actually asleep, he still took it upon himself to strip the petite man down to his boxers—averting his eyes the entire time—and helped him lie down before pulling the blankets up to his waist. He was moving to leave the room when a hand grabbed onto his, and he turned around to see Arthur looking up at him sleepily.

"…stay," the Angel whispered, almost pleading.

It was all Alfred could do to nod, change into his pajama pants, and lie on the other side of the bed. To his mild surprise, Arthur turned onto his side and snuggled into the American's chest, arms curled up between them and head tucked under Al's chin. Smiling slightly, the taller blond wrapped his arms around the Angel's waist and held him close as the warm breaths against his collarbone slowed and steadied.

"Good night, Artie," he said softly. "I love you."

"Love you, too…"

Shocked, Alfred froze, blue eyes wide. He hadn't been expecting a response—he'd thought the Angel was already asleep.

_Shit…if he remembers that in the morning…what's he gonna think? I mean, we're friends, and friends can love each other, but I definitely didn't mean it as a friend, and it didn't sound like I meant it as a friend. He's gonna know. He's gonna know I'm in love with him and then he won't want to be around me anymore. He won't want me to stay home from work or sit with him on the couch or hold him like this._

Alfred didn't think he could handle that. He _knew_ he would crack if the Angel became too uncomfortable around him for simple things like lying together the way they were. But Arthur had said he loved Alfred, too. Did that mean…he wouldn't mind? Would he be happy to know how Alfred felt?

Before the tall blond could begin to be hopeful, he remembered his dream about Arthur not having a heartbeat. The Angel had confessed that he liked Al a lot, but that it would never work because he was an Angel and Alfred was human. Alfred wished with all his might that their differences—no matter how big of a difference it was—didn't matter. It shouldn't matter. If Arthur really loved him back, then they should be able to be in love without worrying about Angels and humans or whatever else there was.

_This is all so stupid,_ he thought, closing his eyes as he breathed in the Angel's scent, a combination of tea and the way a forest smells right after it rains. He'd never noticed Arthur's smell before, probably because it was so subtle, but he decided he'd be able to go the rest of his life without smelling anything else.

_I love him. I love him more than anything else in the universe, and if the only reason I can't be with him is because he's got wings and I don't, then I'll do whatever it takes to earn my own pair. No matter what._

Determined to never lose the man sleeping beside him, Alfred took another deep breath of that relaxing scent. "I love you," he whispered again, without receiving a response this time, and finally drifted off to sleep with the Angel held safely in his arms.


	15. Chapter 15

They were walking again. Not talking or looking at each other. Just walking. The snow that had fallen had melted already, leaving damp, brown grass behind. Most of the leaves had fallen, but those that remained were dull shades of orange and red, a sad remnant of the beautiful colors they'd been during the fall. Now the season was on the verge of winter and soon everything would be white and clean for a little while. But only a little while.

Arthur couldn't remember the last time he'd played in the snow. Probably during his human years. They didn't have seasons in heaven, after all, and once he'd become an Angel, he'd been too busy to visit earth for something as silly as playing in the snow. Besides, that was something for children to do, not men his age, even though Romulus encouraged them to cultivate their frivolous desires because he believed they needed to behave like children at times if they were to help the children of the earth. It made sense, but Arthur rarely gave in to his child-like impulses. He would have felt ridiculous if he'd joined some of the other Angels in their games of hopscotch and blowing bubbles and singing little ditties that meant nothing but sounded happy.

Still, he wanted to play in the snow. Build a snowman or an igloo. Make snow Angels. Maybe have a snowball fight with Alfred. That was the thing, though. He wanted to play in the snow _with Alfred._ Not by himself. Not with other Angels. With Alfred.

_I'll be gone before there's enough snow for any of that. It's been a week and my wing hardly hurts at all anymore unless I bump it too much. Another week or two and I'll be able to fly, and then I'll have to leave._

Perhaps he could visit. He knew he would want to, every time he was assigned a human in New York, he would want to stop by the apartment and visit the tall blond walking beside him, hear his voice, see him smile and watch the way those blue eyes lit up with excitement about even the littlest things. He would want to curl on the couch and watch a movie, or if Alfred was gone at work, sneak into the bedroom and hide under the bedcovers to surprise him when he got home. Even if Alfred was too tired to stay awake, he wouldn't mind. That would just mean he got to lie with him, maybe even be held in the man's arms without worry of his back or wings.

Just thinking of what it would be like almost brought tears to Arthur's eyes. Alfred would be so happy to see him, and Arthur knew he would hardly be able to force himself to leave when it was time to go. Each visit would last longer and the time he spent away would feel like an eternity. It would drag out over the years as Alfred grew older while Arthur stayed the same, until eventually the American was a wrinkled old man in a nursing home, patiently waiting for death while Arthur clung to him and tried to keep him from leaving.

"Arthur?"

"Y-yes?"

Arms wrapped around his shoulders and he felt himself being pulled against the taller man's body.

"It's all right, Arthur," the American soothed.

_No, no, it's not. This is far from all right. I'm in love with a human, and I can't even tell him because it would only make this worse. I have two weeks, and then I have to leave._

Arthur hadn't realized that he'd started crying as they walked, but Alfred had, being comforted by the human only made him cry harder. He was going to miss these walks through the park, and the way Alfred always knew if something was wrong even if he didn't know what.

It embarrassed the Angel to be caught crying, especially over something that hadn't even happened yet. Alfred was still young and wouldn't die for a long time. Still, the American's hug was comforting, so Arthur didn't pull away or insist that he was fine. He let Alfred hold him, winding his arms around the taller man's waist.

_I love you._

Fuck. His jaw was aching, he wanted to say it so badly. He took a deep breath in through his nose instead, relaxing at Alfred's scent. That, at least, he would manage to keep. Maybe then it wouldn't hurt so much to leave, if he got to take even that little piece of the blue-eyed man with him.

When he'd managed to regain control over himself, Arthur pulled back from Alfred's embrace and offered a watery smile.

"I'm okay," he said quietly. "Promise."

Alfred smiled and kissed the Angel's forehead before taking his hand and leading him off along the path again.

The feeling of the American's calloused palm against his own smooth hand was oddly pleasant, and Arthur focused on that as they walked, trying to memorize the way it felt. Protective and strong but gentle, warm, affectionate, loyal.

_Like he'll never let go._

Arthur shook his head a little, closing his eyes and frowning.

_You'll never make it through this walk if you keep thinking like that. Stop thinking about leaving. Focus on being with him while it lasts._

It was easier if he snuck glances at Alfred's face. The ash blond was smiling ever so slightly, glasses reflecting the weak afternoon sun as the wind ruffled his hair and that one odd bit stuck up in the front. Sunkissed skin contrasted perfectly with laughing sapphire eyes. His shoulders were relaxed and he strolled along as if he had all the time in the world, one hand holding onto Arthur and the other tucked into the pocket of the brown jacket he'd dug out of the closet. It had a big white 50 on the back that was driving Arthur crazy—he couldn't figure out what the numbers stood for, but he didn't want to ask. The mental challenge of figuring it out on his own was too enticing.

By the time the two men reached their destination, Arthur was no closer to discovering the meaning behind the number than he'd been when they left Alfred's apartment. He was willing to let it go for the time being, however, in favor of relaxing in their usual spot.

Still holding hands, Angel and human climbed the hill and settled together on the bench beneath the tree. It was a little damp, but neither of them cared. It was their spot; it had been since the first time Alfred took Arthur there to show it to him. This was the first time they'd visited since Ivan.

With a soft sigh, Arthur pulled his legs up under him and leaned against Alfred's side as he looked out over the park. Alfred's arm around his shoulders kept the chilly breeze at bay and before long he felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy, but he fought sleep. There was something he wanted to do, first.

"Alfred."

"Hm?"

"What was it like in the military?"

"Terrifying."

Arthur smiled and laughed a little even though he knew Alfred wasn't joking. "No, I mean, why did you enlist, where did you go, what did you do?"

Brushing his fingers through the Angel's golden locks, Alfred was quiet for a few minutes as he thought back to his years as a member of the U.S. Military. "I was a Marine. I enlisted fresh out of high school because I couldn't afford college and I didn't want to get stuck in some dead-end job for the rest of my life. The military seemed like the perfect option."

Silent, Arthur snuggled closer to the American and patiently waited for him to continue.

"Boot camp was hell. I've always been athletic, so the drills weren't much of a challenge, but when it came to following orders, I was in the habit of disobeying or arguing. I don't really do very well when it comes to authority figures."

The last bit brought another smile to Arthur's lips. "I can believe that, you ornery git."

It was Alfred's turn to chuckle and he gently squeezed the Angel's shoulders in a fond sort of way. "Once I finally managed to learn to follow orders, I did fine. Graduated, deployed, fought. I was sent overseas—I don't even remember the names of all the countries we went to. Just that there was a lot of fighting, a lot of deaths and pain and fear. They make war seem so glorious, you know? Make you think you'll be a hero, wave your flag and spread freedom around the globe. Kick ass and take names, all that bullshit."

He sighed, shaking his head.

"War isn't glorious. War is hell on earth. You make friends just to watch them get killed or hurt, disfigured beyond recognition, at times. You can't walk down a road without worrying that you'll step on a bomb or get hit by an ambush just around the corner. Every night, you wonder if you'll make it through, if you'll get home to see your family and friends again." His voice almost cracked as he spoke, and Arthur wrapped his arms around the taller man's torso in an attempt to comfort him. Alfred smiled gratefully, resting his cheek on top of the Angel's head.

"After a while, you stop caring. You go numb. Gunfire doesn't make you jump, the explosion of a grenade brings only the hope that it wasn't someone you knew. Then you start getting angry. Everything bothers you. You hate the enemy for doing what they're doing, for making you come all the way from your home to fight them, for attacking you and killing your friends. But in the end, you're just trying to make it long enough to go home, and you're doing everything you can to make sure your friends go home with you.

"That's why I have that medal in my closet, with my uniform. I rescued some of my fellow marines. I don't remember much of it. It's all just a blur, just terror that I was going to die or they were going to die, anger over everything we'd lost already. Determination to get them home in one piece. In war, your friends are all you have, and you might only have them for a few days. The military's where I met Antonio and Ludwig and Romano, even Feliciano—he was a volunteer in a hospital, since the sight of a gun just about makes him faint with fear. He doesn't even carry one at work like the rest of us."

"And Ivan?" Arthur asked, so quietly Alfred almost didn't hear him; the taller man was quiet for a moment.

"Yeah, and Ivan."

"What happened?"

"He was a foreign liaison working with my unit. I'd never met anyone like him."

"You were attracted to him?" It was hard to sound like he was only curious and not genuinely upset by the idea.

"Not at first. Intrigued, sure, but there was something…off, about him. Dangerous, like you had to watch your step or he'd decide you were an enemy, too. But the thing about Ivan, is that he can be the most seductive man on this planet when it suits him. Even though I didn't trust him, I couldn't say no when he asked me for…sexual favors. When we got out of the military, the favors turned into a relationship. Don't get me wrong, I did care about him, and he said he loved me all the time. I was happy even with the nightmares. But then…he changed."

The more Arthur heard about the Russian, the less he liked him. He sounded like a manipulative sadist and it bothered him a great deal to think he'd seduced Alfred. "How so?"

Alfred shrugged. "He had trouble sleeping and he started to drink all the time. Mostly just enough to get tipsy and happy, but sometimes he got dead drunk. When he started getting drunk a lot, things got really bad. He wanted sex all the time, but if I wasn't in the mood and refused, he would get mad and accuse me of not loving him. He either made me feel guilty enough that I gave in or forced me."

Shocked and outraged, Arthur sat bolt upright on the bench and would have flared his wings had it not been for the bandage and bulky clothes, his green eyes narrowed dangerously. "He did _what?"_

Hands clasped loosely and hanging between his knees, head down and gaze lowered, Alfred was the picture of shame and hurt. "The worst part is that I still couldn't leave him. After all that time, I had to believe that he would get better again. I tried to get him to go to therapy, join a group to quit drinking, anything that would make things like they were. He always apologized for hurting me and said he wouldn't do it again, promised he would get help." He puts his hands over his face and heaved a sigh. "And I was stupid enough to believe him."

"Alfred." Arthur laid a gentle hand on the human's arm, trying to get him to look up. "You can't blame yourself for hoping it would be okay. It should have been okay. You had every right to expect him to make those efforts and take care of you."

Alfred shook his head but didn't argue. "I left him when I found out he was using and dealing drugs. Not when he was home, of course, because then he probably would have forced me to stay, and who knows what else he'd have done to me as punishment for trying to leave. I took what money I had and wandered around New York until I found this place. I got the job at the lab as a night guard so I wouldn't have to put up with the nightmare, deleted Ivan from all my social networks and blocked him on my phone. It didn't stop him from trying to find me, but the guys knew what had been going on and lied to him about knowing where I was. I don't think I'd have made it so long without them. Now he knows where I am, though, so I'll probably have to move again."

"If he comes back, I'll beat the git to a bloody pulp," Arthur growled. "He won't even have a chance to lay a finger on you."

"Thanks, Artie."

Even though he was smiling, Alfred had never looked more vulnerable than he did at that moment—the American looked like he was about to shatter. He'd just told Arthur something he'd probably never wanted to talk about again. That was gesture of trust that Arthur appreciated more than he could ever say, but he could try.

"I was murdered."

Blue eyes widened and blinked at the sudden admittance. "What?"

Arthur looked out over the park, green eyes looking at something far away that only the Angel could see. "That's how I died. I told you before that the human belief that good people go to heaven and bad people go to hell is somewhat true. With Angels, it's all about how you die. You have to die in a way that helps others. Living a good life, being kind and caring and dying in your sleep when you're eighty years old doesn't cut it. That's not good enough. You have to _give _your life to others. I was murdered in order to save someone else."

Speechless, Alfred stared at the other man and waited for him to explain further.

"His name was Francis. He was my lover."

"What…what happened?"

A sad smile lifted the corner of Arthur's mouth. "We lived near a small village, just inside the border of a forest. He was an artist. He saw beauty in everything and somehow managed to show it in his art, making everyone see the world as he saw it. Flawed, but beautiful. Enchanted. Perfect. Before Francis, I didn't really get close to anyone. I was always on my own, working—I was a carpenter, and a good one. I made tables and chairs, shelves, sensible things that would last a long time and were useful. I met Francis when I went to him seeking advice on how to add elegance to my work. Hated the wanker at first, you know."

The Angel chuckled fondly then sighed, eyes never leaving that invisible thing on the horizon.

"He got me to come around, eventually. I taught him how to carve wood and gave him a place to stay, and he helped me relax and showed me how to enjoy life. Everything was about love and beauty with Francis. He was only sad if others didn't see the joy in life that he did. And he was an awful flirt, always losing track of time while talking to the pretty girls in the village. He made me so terribly jealous, but every time he would sweep me off my feet all over again, and I couldn't stay upset for more than a day."

"You must have really loved each other," Alfred commented quietly, feeling guilty all of a sudden for wanting Arthur all to himself when somewhere there was someone else who had loved him for years and was probably better for him than a traumatized veteran with a stalker ex-boyfriend.

"Yes, but those were times when it was acceptable to stone a woman if she was not a virgin when she was married. Francis and I were discovered after we'd been living together for several years. The villagers who had been our friends all that while turned on us, called us devils and sinners, the worst of Satan's servants. They came to our house in the middle of the night with the intent to hang us both. I stayed behind so Francis could escape."

Tears pricked at the corners of Arthur's eyes, but he didn't bother to wipe them away or hold them back.

"He didn't want to go. He was determined to stay by my side, no matter what. I told him I would never forgive him if he stayed, made him swear that he would find somewhere peaceful to live, somewhere quiet where we could have been happy again. Then one last kiss, and he was gone. The villagers were content with me. They dragged me back to the village and tried to make me confess to being a devil. I remember repeating, "love is not a sin," over and over again and it made them so angry. When they couldn't force me to admit to anything, they took me to the village square and waited until dawn. Then they burned me in front of everyone I had once called friend. No one tried to stop them or help me, not even the children that had come to my house to have lessons with Francis."

The tears went freely down Arthur's cheeks now, and it was all Alfred could do to pull the petite man against him, hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry, Arthur," he whispered. "I'm so, so sorry."

Arthur nuzzled into the American's chest, sniffling quietly. "After I died, Romulus took my soul to heaven and asked me if I wanted to be an Angel. I accepted without hesitation. The first thing I did was make sure Francis was okay. He did exactly as he'd promised—he built a little cottage in a field surrounded by trees, miles from anyone else. It was the quietest, most peaceful place to ever exist. His days were filled with painting and singing, and once a month he would ride to the nearest town for supplies. He was still a flirt, but he never chose another partner after me even though there were plenty of attractive men and women to choose from."

He'd stopped crying now, but he didn't pull away from Alfred's embrace.

"Sometimes, I would hear him talking to himself. If I listened closely, he would say my name as if I was sitting beside him. He told me about his trips into town, the people he met, what he dreamt about. It was almost like he knew I was listening.

"When he grew too old to ride, he arranged for supplies to be brought to him. He died an old man in that little cottage, but he wasn't alone. Romulus let me to go to him, and I was able to spend my lover's last day on earth with him in that meadow. We spent the whole day talking, remembering the good times and ignoring the bad. When his body died, I was the one to guide his soul to heaven, and even though he wasn't given the option to become an Angel, he was happy. His soul was as young and vibrant as his body had been in his youth, and the last thing he said to me before he moved on to the afterlife was that he'd known I was there all along, and that had been all he needed."

Another round of tears made their way down the Angel's pale cheeks, dripping onto the brown fabric of Alfred's jacket. They sat motionless on that bench for a long while, holding each other. Alfred's story of a relationship ruined by abuse and addiction and Arthur's tale of love destroyed by the cruelty of others surrounded them, made them seek comfort in the other's warmth and strength.

"I know I'm not Francis, Arthur," Alfred whispered, cheek resting on the top of the Angel's head, "but I do care about you, more than I've ever cared about anyone."

Arthur smiled just barely and placed a feather-soft kiss on the taller blond's cheek. "I care about you, too, Alfred, and I'm glad you're not Francis. I like you for you."

_I love you, and if Francis was watching this right now, he'd want us to be happy together_.

The Angel was starting to wonder if that was even possible.


	16. Chapter 16

Alfred woke as the sun was going down and the chill of a pre-winter night began creeping into his bones. It was time to go back to his apartment, but Arthur was still asleep, curled up almost in the American's lap with Al's arm around his shoulders.

_He's so cute._

Even though he knew he should wake the Angel so they could go home, he hated the idea of disturbing the man he loved. So, as gently as he could, he stood and pulled Arthur off the bench, draping the smaller man over his back.

"Mm…Alfie…?" Arthur blinked sleepy green eyes as his sort-of-awake brain tried to figure out what was going on. Why wasn't he sitting on the bench anymore?

Smiling fondly, Alfred hooked his arms under Arthur's knees and shifted the Angel to a more comfortable position. "Go back to sleep, Artie. I've got you."

The Angel nodded slowly, wrapping his arms around Alfred's neck and nuzzling into the tall man's shoulder. He was sound asleep only a moment later and didn't wake again the entire time Alfred was piggy-backing him home.

As always, the American was surprised by how deceptively light the Angel was. Arthur weighed next to nothing, and his warmth on Alfred's back helped to ward off the chill in the air. That didn't keep Alfred from hurrying, though. He wanted to get Arthur inside before it got too cold for the Angel.

_He'd probably tell me to quit worrying, _the bespectacled man thought with a smile, _or remind me that Angel's are stronger than humans so the cold doesn't bother him at all._

Regardless, he hurried, though not enough to jostle the sleeping man on his back or to agitate the Angel's wing or back. It was completely dark out by the time they were safely back in the apartment, and Alfred made sure to lock the door before carrying Arthur into the bedroom. The Angel was still fast asleep, so Alfred took it upon himself to change him into a clean pair of boxers and then tucked him into bed.

"Sweet dreams, Artie," he whispered as he kissed the Angle's temple, his hand resting on the petite man's lower back. Then he turned and left the bedroom with the intent to shower before going to sleep himself; he didn't notice the sound Arthur made or the way the Angel curled onto his side.

_There was something different about his meadow. It was flatter, though there were hills visible in the distance, and the fog that usually hung in the low places had retreated into the trees. The other thing that was out of place was Arthur's clothing—he was wearing his toga, not the human clothes he should have been in._

"_Ah, I understand."_

_It wasn't _his_ meadow. He was actually dreaming and so his clothes had changed even his wing and back were healed. Smiling now, Arthur spread his wings and launched himself into the air. Immediately, joy rushed through him at the feeling of wind in his hair and feathers, the strength that course through his wings as each powerful stroke took him higher._

_This was freedom. This was everything good in the world._

_Arthur let his eyes fall closed as he soared above the treetops. Genuine dreams were rare for Angels, and he meant to enjoy every last moment of this one. After a while, he felt something tugging at his mind, an irresistible urge, and he swooped low to turn and follow it._

_When he saw what he was being led to, he was so shocked he almost fell out of the sky._

"_It can't be."_

_Nervous but hopeful, Arthur landed with his wings spread wide to steady himself and approached the small cottage. The details were so familiar it was painful._

"_Hello?" he called, unwilling to go inside without first knowing if there was a dream-person inside._

"_Ello! Un instant, s'il vous plait!"_

_Pain struck Arthur's heart and his knees felt weak all of a sudden. He knew that voice._

"_F-Francis…!"_

"_Hm?" Looking as young and lively as the time Arthur had first laid eyes on him, Francis walked out of the cottage. He smiled, blue eyes twinkling as his long blond hair fell gracefully around his shoulders._

"'_Ello, love," he said softly, in that tender, affectionate tone he had used every single morning when they woke up together all those years ago. Hearing it after so long brought tears to Arthur's eyes and his throat felt tight._

_Wordlessly, he stumbled to the man he'd thought he would never see again and hugged him tightly. Now he knew without a doubt that this was a dream outside his own control. Which meant that Francis, the one he was hugging at this very moment, wasn't real, and that hurt more than Arthur could bear. He broke down into tears, clinging to Francis as the taller blond guided him inside to a small cot and sat with him, holding him close._

"_There, there, mon cher. No need to cry." Lips pressed to his forehead and Arthur whimpered in the back of his throat._

"_I-I miss you, y-you French b-bastard," he choked out, making Francis laugh._

"_And I miss you, but I have passed on, and you have fallen in love again, oui?"_

_Arthur hesitated, wondering if this dream-Francis would be jealous. "Y-yes. His name is Alfred."_

"_Does he treat you well, mon cher?"_

_Nodding, Arthur took a deep breath and managed to stop crying. "He does."_

"_And does he love you?"_

"_I…I don't know." That was only partially true. Arthur knew that Alfred cared for him a great deal, and he had a vague memory of the American telling him that he loved him. Arthur had, however, written that off as a mostly-asleep-imagined memory. Still, he certainly liked to think that Alfred loved him back, even though it would just make things harder when the Angel finally had to leave._

"_Perhaps you should ask him, mon petite Angleterre," Francis suggested, his tone gentle and supportive._

"_I can't."_

"_Why not?"_

_Arthur looked away, though he remained in Francis' embrace. "It would complicate things too much."_

"_I think it is already quite complicated, Arthur."_

_Even though he knew the dream-Francis was right, Arthur didn't agree out loud. His situation with Alfred _was_ starting to get complicated, though it appeared simple on the surface. Admitting how he felt would just make it worse._

_Francis sighed as if he knew what the Angel beside him was thinking. "Stubborn as always."_

_That made Arthur smile in spite of himself, and he was about to tease the Frenchman when a sudden jolt went through his body, the sort of jolt that only happened when…_

"_Did you touch my wing just now, Francis?"_

"_Non, mon cher."_

_If it wasn't Francis, that meant…_

_Shit._

_Arthur's eyes widened as he felt his body growing warm, and Francis chuckled._

"_If you won't tell him, my old lover, then show him."_

_Just like that, the cottage and field were gone, replaced by the hill in the park in that unsettling way dreams have of changing in the blink of an eye. Also in the way of dreams, it was summer in the park, not on the brink of winter like it should have been. Arthur sat alone on the bench at the top of the hill, flushed and starting to pant lightly._

"_Damn it! What the bloody hell happened to make me like this?!"_

_The first possibility was that he'd rolled in his sleep and rubbed his wing on something. It was more likely, however, that Alfred had accidentally touched one of Arthur's wings and therefore put him in the state he was currently in._

_Arthur was aroused, and there was only one thing he could do about it._

"_The one downside to being an Angel," he muttered to himself, lifting his toga to glare at the focus of his body's reaction. "Knock it off. I don't have time for this nonsense."_

_His overheated body ignored him, naturally, and the Angel felt another jolt, this one stronger than the last. They would only get worse the longer he waited, though Arthur thought he could be stubborn enough to resist the whole way through._

_A third jolt made his back arch and he bit his lip to fight it, desperately resisting the urge to touch himself. That was _not _what he wanted out of this dream!_

_It was at that moment that Arthur caught sight of the last thing he wanted to see—someone was coming towards him up the hill. Panic filled him despite the fact that this was just a dream. What if they saw him like this? That would be beyond embarrassing, and extremely shameful. When he recognized the messy blond hair and glasses that were reflecting the sun, he seriously considered flying off before Alfred reached him._

"_A-Alfred, don't come any—hng—closer!" he called desperately, nails digging into his thigh in an attempt to keep himself under control for just a little bit longer._

_The American ignored him and Arthur watched him come closer and closer, trembling now with both the effort of containing himself and with his body's need for release. He held his toga over himself protectively when Alfred finally reached him, looking up at the blue-eyed man with a pleading expression._

"_I'm not d-decent, Alfred," he managed, shifting on the bench in an attempt to rub himself with his thighs—a soft moan escaped him and his eyes fluttered shut._

"_Artie, are you okay?"_

_No, no, he wasn't okay. He was horny beyond all belief and the man he was in love with was standing less than a foot away in a dream where anything could happen. To hell with it._

_Opening his eyes again, he released the fabric of his toga and grabbed onto the shirt the dream-Alfred was wearing, pulling him down and kissing him fiercely. Alfred was obviously surprised by this but didn't argue._

"_Alfred," the Angel growled, pulling at the taller man's clothes insistently, "this is probably your fault, so you'd better take care of it."_

"_My fault?" Alfred began placing kisses on Arthur's neck, his hand wandering up the pale thigh to slip under the toga. "Do I turn you on this much, Artie?"_

_A hiss sounded from between Arthur's teeth as that wandering hand found its target. "Yes, you bloody do, now get on with it!"_

_The American chuckled, patiently stroking the Angel's hardened member. "Good." He kissed Arthur again, and this time hands were tangled in his hair as Arthur pulled him down onto the bench._

_To the Angel's immense irritation, Alfred pulled away only a few moments later, but before he could curse and demand to know what the human thought he was doing, Alfred had lifted him off the bench and instead laid him in the grass. Arthur blinked in surprise at the man who was now over him, cheeks turning pink. He had to remind himself that this was all just a dream in order to build up the nerve to reach down and undo the zipper and button of Alfred's jeans._

"_Arthur?"_

_Green eyes met blue—Alfred looked nervous. "Yes?"_

"_You sure about this?"_

"_Yes, and I really don't think I can wait much longer, love, so please get on with it." He was practically begging now, as flustered and aroused as he'd so quickly become. Alfred nodded and kissed him for the third time, and Arthur was quick to open his mouth to the taller man, wanting to finally know if the American's taste was anything as intoxicating as his smell._

_It was better. The American tasted like freshly brewed coffee mixed with something light and sweet and before he knew it, Arthur was kissing Alfred with everything he had. He hardly noticed his toga being pushed up to bare everything below his chest or that Alfred had kicked his jeans and boxers down to his ankles. Only when the taller man bucked his hips down onto the Angel's did Arthur tear away from the kiss to let out a loud moan, bucking back as yet another jolt shook his spine._

"_A-Alfred…"_

_Kisses and small bites on his neck and collarbone distracted him before Arthur could finish what he'd been about to say, not that he minded. This dream-Alfred was as good at this as the Angel had secretly hoped the real Alfred was, and he was enjoying every second of it. He felt his hips being lifted off the grass and wrapped his arms tightly around Alfred's neck. This was it. Even though it was a dream and wouldn't actually hurt him, Arthur felt a spike of fear at the thought of having sex after so long—he hadn't done this since Francis, so it would definitely be uncomfortable and most likely painful. If it wasn't just a dream._

_Arthur took a deep breath. "Do it." He bit Alfred's ear and held onto him tightly as the American lined himself up then entered him._

_He was bigger than Francis, or at least it felt that way since Arthur hadn't been prepared or stretched first. But he was pretty sure this dream-Alfred was bigger than Francis had been. It didn't hurt, though, thanks to the dream logic Arthur was so heavily relying on just to be able to do any of this. It felt _good. _Amazing. Arthur barely managed to force his mouth to produce something other than moans._

"_M-move…"_

_Obediently, Alfred began rocking his hips, and Arthur's back arched as far as it could. True, it wasn't the same as what sex in real life would be like—not quite—but it was still enough for him to move with Alfred's thrusts, bite his neck, call his name, dig his nails into that muscular back as the grass cushioned his own smaller body._

_Arthur licked one of the bite marks he'd made, feeling himself getting close to his climax. "Alf-fred…hah…"_

"_Nng…y-yeah?"_

"_Just a l-little more!" He could hear the desperation in his words and he knew the dream-Alfred could hear it, too, because suddenly the taller man was moving faster, large hands gripping the Angel's slender hips as the force behind his thrusts increased. It didn't take long for Arthur to finally reach his breaking point._

_Dragging his nails down Alfred's back, he bucked his hips up into the American's, shouting his name as ecstasy crashed down on the Angel. Then Alfred was biting his neck and thrusting even harder than before as he experienced his own release._

"_A-Arthur…!"_

"_Alfred…"_

_They rode it out, holding onto each other for dear life and lying together in the grass when the pleasure began to fade, panting as if they'd been sprinting. Arthur nuzzled into the tanned chest beside him, licking at the sweat that had gathered on Alfred's skin and thinking he should have put a hickey there. A gentle hand brushed through his hair and the Angel looked up in time for Alfred to kiss him softly._

"_Love you, Artie."_

"_Love you, too, Alfie."_

_At least he could admit it in his dreams._

It was the biggest shock of his life when Alfred woke up in the middle of the night to find that the dream he'd been having hadn't been entirely a dream.

_I'm going to have to wash the sheets again in the morning._

Further inspection made the normally tan American go pale and even a little green. He hadn't gotten on _Arthur,_ had he? It looked like it. But he really, _really_ hoped he hadn't. How was he supposed to explain that?

"Oh, yeah, I had—another—dream about having sex with you, and I accidentally got semen all over the blankets. And on you. Sorry."

Not going to happen. Ugh, why was he always getting in these situations? It hadn't even been the best sex dream he'd had about the Angel! Just very basic and straightforward, yet this was the first time he'd actually released outside the dream without going into the bathroom and taking care of the erection he occasionally woke up with. What was so special about this time?

With a heavy sigh, Alfred carefully got out of bed and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. That at least gave him enough light to see what he was doing without waking the Angel. Now, how was he going to do this? He could move Arthur to the couch—after cleaning him up, of course—then put the sheets in the wash machine before getting in the shower. A clean set of sheets on the bed, put Arthur back and go back to sleep. The only thing he'd have to worry about explaining was why he'd decided to change the blankets in the middle of the night. Maybe the Angel wouldn't even notice. Alfred did have very similar sheets, so there was a chance he could get away with this.

His mind made up, Alfred went to Arthur's side of the bed and scooped the Angel into his arms to carry him out to the couch to continue sleeping. Unfortunately, he'd only made it halfway there when Arthur stirred.

"What's going on…?" the Angel asked, words slurred with sleep. It was adorable.

"Uh…" Shit, _now _what was he supposed to say? "Nothing, I just…spilled a glass of soda on the bed so I'm changing the sheets.

A small, puzzled frown creased Arthur's forehead. "Oh…okay…" He allowed himself to be set on the couch then shifted uncomfortably as Alfred went back into the bedroom to retrieve the sheets and threw them in the wash machine. While the American was busy with that, Arthur looked down at himself to discover a sticky white substance on his boxers.

Curious but a little afraid to touch it, he went into the bathroom to get a better look at it while Al was busy starting the machine.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, finally recognizing the substance for what it was. "H-hey, Alfred!"

"Yeah?"

"Don't start the machine yet. I've got some…soda…on my boxers."

"All right, just put them in after you change and I'll wash them with the sheets."

"I will."

Disgusted with himself, Arthur took off the dirtied boxers and left them on the floor as he stepped into the bathtub and cleaned himself up. He put a towel around his waist when he was finished and took said boxers out to put in the wash machine along with the sheets and the pajama pants Alfred had been wearing. Apparently, the American had been drinking a rather large glass of soda and managed to spill it everywhere. As to _why_ he'd been drinking soda at…three in the morning, Arthur didn't know, and he didn't care. He was just glad to have gotten rid of the evidence of his dream without the human knowing. That was all he needed was to have to explain that Angel's had sex dreams, too.

By the time Arthur had wandered back into the bedroom and found a new pair of boxers for himself, Alfred had put new sheets on the bed and was on his way to the bathroom for his own purposes.

With a yawn, the Angel climbed into bed and settled comfortably, though he stayed awake until Alfred came back so that he could snuggle with the taller man.

"Good night, Alfred." _I love you._

"Night, Artie." _Love you, too._


	17. Chapter 17

With his arms elbows-deep in a sink full of soapy water, Alfred hummed and scrubbed at the dishes they'd used for their dinner. Arthur had gotten the broom out and was busy sweeping the floor-as he moved within range, Alfred stuck his hip out to bump the Angel playfully, then went back to washing the dishes as if he'd done nothing. Stumbling slightly because he'd been taken by surprise, Arthur whipped around and tapped the taller blond on the head with the broom handle, frowning slightly and sticking his bottom lip out in a pout.

Prepared to defend himself from an irritated British Angel, Alfred turned around only to be distracted by the sight of that protruding lip. It was a soft shade of pink and slightly wet with the smaller man's saliva, perfectly plump and just begging to be nibbled and sucked on. The American's face turned red as images of doing just that filled his head, and he hoped desperately that Arthur hadn't noticed the pair of blue eyes locked on his mouth with what had to be a hungry expression. Only a moment later, the lip disappeared as Arthur's pout turned into an expression of confusion.

"Alfred, are you all right? Did I hit you too hard?"

"What?" The American blinked and shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Just spaced out for a second there." He really needed to stop doing things like that.

Arthur gave him a concerned look before he went back to sweeping, and before long the kitchen was clean and the leftovers were put away in the fridge.

"Did you call Antonio?" the Angel asked as he moved to sit on the couch and picked up the remote to the TV.

"Yeah, so I have to go in tonight. You'll be okay here by yourself?" The question was slightly muffled as Alfred went into the bedroom to change into his security guard uniform.

Rolling his eyes but smiling, Arthur turned on the TV and began flipping through the channels in search of something to watch. "I'll be fine. You just make sure you get to work and back safely." He glanced out the window at the snow that had been falling all day and the previous night. They were all but trapped in the apartment, and Arthur secretly wished that Alfred didn't have to walk to work. He didn't like the idea of the American wading through the snow to get to work then having to come all the way back in the morning. The snow would soak his pants and he'd be freezing the entire time—he would get sick if he wasn't careful.

"A couple of my coworkers offered to pick me up and drop me off 'cause of the snow." Now dressed and ready to go, Alfred appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, smiling, then went to the closet by the front door to retrieve his belt. Clipped to it were his gun, taser and a pair of handcuffs. Despite himself, Arthur's gaze shifted from the TV screen to the silver cuffs dangling from Alfred's waist and he swallowed thickly. It became a matter of self-control when he felt the desire to go to the taller man and take the cuffs off the belt, smiling innocently, and ask how they worked. Would Alfred mind showing him? If it wasn't too much trouble, that is.

Arthur nearly smacked himself in order to get a grip before he let his imagination get too involved in that little fantasy. Ever since that damned dream, he was having a harder and harder time keeping his hands off the tanned American. Alfred was just so bloody _inviting_ and Arthur had the suspicion that his advances might not be unwelcome if he chose to follow them.

"That's good," he managed in a forced-calm tone. "I was worried about you walking in this weather."

Grinning, Alfred moved to stand in front of the couch—putting those bloody handcuffs within Arthur's reach—and sat on the coffee table so the two males were nearly face to face. The handcuffs were instantly forgotten as a new fantasy invaded the Angel's thoughts. Now he wanted to cross that short distance and climb into the blue-eyed man's lap, pushing him back on the coffee table and kissing him for all Arthur was worth, tell him that he changed his mind and wanted Alfred to stay home tonight then make love right there on that little table.

_Oh, bloody hell! You've obviously spent too much time on this planet, Arthur. You were never this dirty-minded in heaven and certainly not before you became an Angel. Francis used to tease you about being a prude, and here you are mere seconds from begging this nearly perfect man to pin you on this couch and make you his forever._

Just like that, he pictured Alfred moving forward and doing exactly what he'd just thought, and he shifted uncomfortably on the couch to keep from making a sound until fingers snapped before his eyes and he looked up into those sapphire eyes. "hm?"

"You sure you're okay, Artie? You're flushed." Concerned, Alfred held the back of his hand against the Angel's forehead. "You feel really warm. Are you getting sick?"

Even that little touch made the Angel shiver and he bit his tongue. "N-no, I'm fine. You can go to work tonight—you need the money." God, he couldn't decide if he wanted Alfred to stay or not. Stay and end up losing all semblance of control, or go and be left to deal with his growing arousal on his own.

Luckily, he didn't have to choose, because at that moment a horn honked outside and Alfred looked towards the window.

"That's Ludwig and Feliciano. I'll be back in the morning." Leaning forward, he kissed the Angel's forehead. "Night, Artie."

_Fuck, this is bad,_ the green-eyed man thought, nails biting into the palm of his hand so he wouldn't throw himself at the American and demand a real kiss. "See you tomorrow."

One last smile, then Alfred was gone, and Arthur let out a sigh of relief. Now he could take care of his, uh, _problem_ without fear of being discovered. He wasn't going to be rash and desperate about it, though. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.

After making sure the front door was locked, Arthur went into the bathroom and began filling the tub with hot water, adding in soap and mixing it around with his hand to create a mass of bubbles on top. Steam rose and quickly filled the room, fogging up the mirror and making Arthurs' skin feel damp. The Angel sighed and slowly stripped, stretching as he did so, and dropped his clothes to the floor a piece at a time. He liked to imagine that Alfred was there watching him, and the thought made his body heat up in a pleasant way. Those blue eyes would slide over his pale skin, devouring him with nothing but a hungry look, and Arthur would shiver as if the look was a touch.

Arthur smiled demurely and, naked, climbed up onto the counter to kneel over the sink so he was facing the fogged over mirror. Bracing himself with one hand, he used a single finger to write out a message in the fog.

_**I want to fuck Alfred F. Jones.**_

The lewd wording, combined with his handprint just underneath, made for a pleasing picture, and part of him hoped that Alfred would accidentally discover the message the next time he showered. Arthur could picture the way the American's eyes would widen in surprise, almost hear the nervous chuckle that would escape the taller man. Undoubtedly, Alfred would ask him about the message, and that would be the perfect opportunity for Arthur to reveal how much he needed him. Right now, it sounded like a brilliant plan, but he knew that he would clean the mirror after his bath so that it couldn't happen. He was aroused and wanted Alfred—once he was calm again, he would know it wasn't possible. For now, though, he left the message where it was. For now, he was ignoring his better judgment.

Careful not to bump his knees or shins on the edge of the counter, the Angel dropped back onto the floor and crossed the small room to the bath tub. Bubbles swirled lazily on the water that was still putting off steam. He imagined taking Alfred's hand and pulling the larger man with him as he stepped into the tub, the hot water pleasant against his skin. Slowly, he sank into the water and sighed, immersing himself completely for a few moments. His skin glistened when his head and shoulders rose out of the water, and he pushed his hair back out of his eyes before leaning against the side of the tub, legs stretched out under the water. All he needed to do now was decide how he wanted to do this.

Arthur trailed a hand up his thigh, pretending his soft touch was Alfred's calloused hand, imagined that the American was sitting behind him and Arthur was leaning back against that strong, warm chest, not the cold shower wall. He knew how he wanted his release.

Pulling his legs towards himself so his knees stuck out of the water, he slipped a hand under himself and rubbed at his backside the way he thought Alfred would and tried to imagine the American's mouth on his neck or ear, licking, sucking and nipping in a way that would make the Angel gasp. His other hand slid from his collarbone to his nipple and he played with it, unashamedly moaning Alfred's name.

"Hng…Alfred…"

Breath coming in short pants, Arthur moved his hand from rubbing his rear and searched for his entrance with gentle but impatient fingers just the way Alfred would. When he found it, he stroked and teased so that his entire body quivered, and he bit his lip as a needy whimper escaped him. Then he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax before carefully pushing a single finger inside himself. The pain of being penetrated for the first time in so many years wasn't as bad as he'd been expecting, but it was still enough to bring tears to his eyes and make him cry out, his back arching away from the wall. To cover up his discomfort, he let his other hand abandon the sensitive nub on his chest and began stroking the hardened length between his legs.

"_It's all right, Artie. I've got you."_

It was too easy to imagine what Alfred would say to him, and Arthur felt himself slowly relaxing again, the pain fading away almost to nothing as he rubbed and palmed himself. Carefully, he began moving his finger.

"A-Al…hah…more…" he begged softly despite the fact that no one was there to hear him. Obliging himself, the Angel inserted a second finger and scissored them apart to drive a groan from himself, his hips bucking slightly and making the water swish around.

_Alfred chuckled and kissed the Angel's shoulder, squeezing his length gently so that Arthur whined. "Does that feel good, Artie?"_

"Y-yes!"

Another finger, pushing deeper, faster and harder, twisting and spreading to stretch him enough to accommodate the American's size as the hand on his shaft squeezed and pumped. Pants and gasps made Arthur's chest heave. Without making a conscious decision to, he leaned forward enough to move his wings and rubbed the feathery appendages together, the contact driving his pleasure even higher. Sweat and condensation beaded on his skin, rolling off his shoulders and face; in his head, a tongue licked at the moisture and teeth dragged over his skin, making him shiver excitedly.

"Bite…please…"

_Smirking, the American tilted his head and licked up the side of the smaller man's neck before biting down, gently then harder, tugging and sucking at the soft flesh as Arthur moaned. His fingers finally located that bundle of nerves inside the Angel and the way Arthur called his name was so filled with lust and desire that it aroused them both even further. Both of Alfred's hands began to move faster._

He couldn't take it much longer. The tightness that had formed in his stomach was almost too much, and Arthur's hips were moving of their own accord—there was probably water all over the bathroom floor from how many times he'd bucked from a spike of pleasure.

"S-so close…nng…A-Alf-fred!" With one last upwards thrust of his hips, Arthur reached his climax, shouting the American's name as he did so. His vision went white as a blinding wave of pleasure crashed over him, and slowly returned as the sensation faded. Panting, he removed his fingers from his entrance and quickly washed them off in the soapy water—he thought vaguely that it was a good thing he'd done it this way, because it meant there was no mess to clean up.

It was several minutes before the Angel's strength returned enough for him to be able to stand up, and even then he knees shook and threatened to give out. Stubbornly, Arthur held onto the railing on the shower door for balance as he let the water out of the tub then turned on the shower so he could actually clean himself. This water, unlike before, was almost cold, and he stood in it as it soothed his heated flesh. His wing was sore from being leaned against and then being moved the way it had, and he knew it was going to be sensitive the next day, but he didn't care. It was worth it.

Clean and more than ready to crawl into bed and sleep, Arthur shut the water off, stepped out of the tub, and wrapped a towel around his waist. Then he looked to where his message was still legible on the mirror and quickly wiped it away. Alfred couldn't know about any of this, no matter how much Arthur wished he hadn't only been imaging the American's presence while in the bathtub.

"I can't have him," he whispered to his blurry reflection, wet hair plastered to his head and wings dripping. Slowly, he dried himself off then went from the bathroom to the bedroom. Doing what he'd done had left him exhausted, and he could hardly wait to snuggle into Alfred's bed and fall asleep surrounded by the taller man's scent. The only thing missing was the American himself, but as Arthur crawled into bed and all but shoved his face into the pillow, inhaling deeply, he thought he could pretend that Alfred's arms were wrapped around him, holding him close and safe. Pretending was going to have to be good enough.

XXX

"Thanks for the ride! See you tonight!" Slamming the car door, Alfred dashed across the street and up the sidewalk to the front door of his apartment, keys at the ready.

It was still snowing, and he had to stomp the white substance off his boots once he got inside and shut the door, locking it once more. His belt was placed back in the closet and he left his shoes by the door so he could quietly sneak into the bedroom. Arthur was sound asleep in the bed, and Alfred smiled to himself as he grabbed his pajamas before heading to the bathroom to shower.

Strangely enough, there was a puddle of water on the floor that he placed a towel over to soak up before turning the shower on. The hot water let off steam and soon the small room was filled with it, fogging up the mirror—a large smear on the opaque surface caught his attention and he looked closer. It looked like there had been something written there. He could just make out the very tops and bottoms of some letters, but not enough to know what the message said. There was also a handprint that was too small to be his own, which meant it was Arthurs. Had the Angel written something on the mirror then wiped it off? Hm. He'd have to ask him about it in the morning. First, though, he needed to shower then dress so he could get some sleep—going back to work after almost two weeks of vacation had made it hard to stay up all night.

Showered and dressed ten minutes later with his teeth brushed and hair combed, Alfred went back into the bedroom and slipped under the blankets. He kissed Arthur's forehead before settling down to sleep, and the Angel turned, shifting closer, and mumbled incoherently under his breath. Alfred chuckled and lightly touched the sleeping man's cheek.

Throwing caution to the wind, he leaned close and very, very gently pressed his lips against Arthur's, a hand settling on the golden blond's hip. Alfred's fingers stroked the soft skin they found there, and it took a moment for him to realize that this meant Arthur was naked—he wasn't even wearing boxers like he usually did. Still, he didn't pull away from the other man for several more moments, and when he did, he could have sworn Arthur followed him slightly as if not wanting the kiss to end, though upon checking, he knew the Angel was still sleeping peacefully.

His hand moved to cup the smaller man's hip and he marveled at how perfectly it fit into his the shape of his hand, how soft and smooth Arthur was, especially compared to how rough Alfred knew his hands were. It didn't bother him in the slightest that the Angel didn't have any clothes on. After all, he'd had plenty of little day dreams about spending all day in bed with the other man doing nothing more than cuddling with him. They'd both been naked for those daydreams, but Alfred knew better than to think that now was a good time to make them come true. All that would do is make Arthur uncomfortable and then Alfred would feel obligated to sleep on the couch again.

Leaving his hand where it was, the American snuggled up to the sleeping Angel and sighed in contentment, their foreheads pressed together. It wasn't the same as falling asleep at the same time as the petite man, but it was better than nothing, and Alfred was content with it. One last sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes, and within moments he was fast asleep, curled up comfortably beside the man he loved.


	18. Chapter 18

_Breaths coming in gasps and pants, Alfred pushed the petite man against the wall even harder than before, nipping, sucking and licking at the Angel's neck. Arthur moaned, his legs wrapped tightly around Alfred's wrist as the American took him roughly._

"_H-harder…"_

_The tone that was so close to begging drove Alfred's arousal even higher. Drawing the Angel into a searing kiss, he did what was asked of him so that Arthur's nails dug into his back._

"_Alfred…what are you dreaming about?"_

_Confusion broke through everything else he was feeling and Alfred pulled away to look at Arthur's face. The petite man was looking at him curiously, oblivious to the fact that only moments ago they'd been in the middle of mind-blowing wall sex._

"_W-what?"_

_Arthur smiled cutely and poked the American's cheek. "Wake up, Alfred."_

A touch on his shoulder made Alfred sit bolt upright, blue eyes wide. "What?"

"You fell asleep," Feliciano supplied helpfully from where he stood beside Alfred's chair—he was the one who had touched Al's shoulder—and offered the American a smile. "What were you dreaming about?"

"Uh…" Images of a naked Arthur in the throes of an orgasm flashed through his mind and Alfred cleared his throat nervously. "Nothing."

"Lying bastard," Lovino cut in, his usual scowl in place. "You were making too much noise for it to have been nothing."

Alfred's face turned a deep red. Had he really been making noises? Well, _that_ was embarrassing. But as long as he hadn't said Arthur's name, he was safe. "I was, um, having a nightmare. Recurring one."

Sympathetic looks from everyone except Lovino confirmed that his lie had been believed, and he relaxed. "Did I miss anything important?"

"Nope!" Feliciano chirped. "We were just waking you because it's time to patrol!"

Dismay at a having a dream like that interrupted just to go walk around in the snow in the middle of the night bloomed in Alfred's chest, but he shoved it back down—he shouldn't be having dreams like that while he was at work, anyway. Nodding his appreciation, Alfred stood and grabbed his coat. It took them all several minutes to get properly bundled up to deal with the weather outside. Thick coats, gloves, hats and scarves kept all but their eyes covered up in order to protect them from the cold. Alfred felt like a marshmallow or a balloon with how poofy his coat was, but he didn't mind it once he got outside and the cold began trying to invade his woven shields. The coat kept him warm enough that his teeth didn't chatter and he didn't shiver, and the gloves, although clumsy, still allowed him to use his flashlight and open doors. He wasn't entirely sure if they'd allow for enough movement for him to use his gun, but he was hoping he wouldn't have to do that, so he didn't think about it for more than a few moments. Besides, the only time he'd ever drawn that gun was when Ivan hurt Arthur, and that had been under special circumstances. That had been to protect Arthur, and Alfred had absolutely no qualms about doing whatever it took to protect his Angel.

He couldn't help but grin when he realized that somewhere along the line he'd started to think of Arthur as "his" Angel. Not that he would ever say that out loud. But it was true. He did consider the green-eyed man to be _his_, whether Arthur knew about it or not.

Smiling behind the fabric of his scarf, Alfred finished his rounds then headed back inside. He was definitely going to have some coffee or a hot meal in the break room to chase out any of the cold that managed to seep into him while he'd been outside.

"Ve~Alfred!"

His hand on the door knob to the security office, Alfred turned to see Feliciano and Ludwig coming towards him. The Italian looked like an adorable little meatball, he was wearing so many layers to protect him from the weather. There was no way he'd gotten it all on by himself, so Alfred decided that Ludwig had gone into ultra-protective mode and dressed the younger man himself.

"Hey."

"Alfred! AlfredAlfredAlfredAlfred!" Practically bouncing, Feliciano made his way to the tall blond and looked up at him excitedly. "Are we still invited to come to your apartment in a couple of nights?"

Shit. He'd forgotten all about it. This week was his turn to host their monthly Night In—but what about Arthur? He could hardly expect the Angel to be okay with the idea of four extra males in the apartment with them. Arthur hated covering up his wings even for the short walks they took to the park, so there as little chance the Angel would be willing to put up with Feliciano, Ludwig, Antonio and Lovino. Especially not Lovino. Al could just imagine how irritated the Angel would be after only a few minutes around the moody Italian. It wasn't a pretty sight in his head, but it _was_ amusing.

"Um…I'm not sure, Feli. I'll have to ask my friend. He got hurt so he's staying with me until he gets better. If he's okay with it, then of course you're still invited."

Feliciano let out a happy little squeal at this and immediately turned to Ludwig, chattering to him about what drinks there might be and what they would do this time. Al couldn't help but smile to himself as he went to the security office and set to work making himself a bowl of hot ravioli and a mug of strong coffee to go with it. He was sort of hoping Arthur was willing to let him have his friends over—oh, geez, now he was starting to sound like the totally whipped boyfriend—so they could all spend time together. He wanted to know if Arthur was amazing to everyone or if there was something special about him that only Alfred could really pick up on. Maybe it was both. Either way, he knew his friends would love Arthur no matter what. How could anyone not love an Angel?

XXX

The mattress shifting beneath him woke Arthur and he opened his eyes to see Alfred settling beside him—a sleepy yet happy smile appeared on his face and he reached for the taller man, touching his chest shyly.

"Alfie…"

A warm hand covered his own and lips pressed to his forehead. "Hi, Artie. Go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you."

Nodding, the Angel snuggled against the American, arms winding around his ribs, and sighed in contentment. "Love you, Alfie." He felt a gentle hand running through his hair and tried to shift even closer to the man, though that wasn't entirely possible.

"I love you, too."

"Good..."

That made Alfred chuckle, and even once he fell back asleep, Arthur knew the tanned American hadn't let him go or moved away.

The second time he woke up, it was considerably later in the morning and he felt much more awake. His position with Alfred had also become a bit more compromised. Arthur's leg had somehow wormed its way between the American's and wrapped itself around the taller man's own leg. At some point, Alfred's hands had shifted onto the Angel's back, his arms wrapped around the smaller man's waist, and were now resting dangerously close to his wings—even the littlest movement could cause them to move up and touch the feathery appendages, and Arthur didn't want to think of what would happen after that, especially because if it did happen and he tried to get away, there would only be even more friction and then Alfred would definitely know what was going on. But he didn't want the American to know just how sensitive his wings were, at least not yet, so he held as perfectly still as he could. He'd also managed to place himself on top of the American while Alfred lay on his back, his head tucked under Alfred's chin in a way that was very similar to when they'd fallen asleep on the couch during the storm. Just as he'd been then, he was entirely comfortable and perfectly warm in the taller man's arms—he spent several moments listening to his heart and feeling his chest expand as he breathed—and couldn't bring himself to want to move.

_There's no point in waking him up just to get out of bed. What will you do, watch TV? You're turning as lazy as some humans, Arthur. You need to find a more active hobby so you don't get out of shape. Besides, you're comfortable. He's comfortable. And you don't want to risk him touching your wings accidentally if you decide to move and he reacts._

This time, he didn't manage to stop the thought before it bloomed into an entire little movie in his head. He would try to sit up, his legs still tangled with the American's, and it would startle Alfred awake so that he moved his arms. Not knowing any better, he would touch Arthur's wing joints and then the Angel would have to freeze, biting his lip to hold in a moan or a whimper as one of those tell-tale spasms shook him. That would concern Alfred and he'd try to figure out what was wrong, hands rubbing Arthur's lower back in a way that was meant to be comforting but that sent shivers down his spine. He'd shake his head. Nothing was wrong. He was fine. Of course he was fine. And Alfred wouldn't believe him because obviously _something_ was going on, and he'd hug Arthur and try to get him to relax and tell him the truth, but being pulled close would only cause friction and that would make it even worse. Before Arthur could stop himself, he'd lick or bite the American—probably on his neck or chest—and when Alfred gave him a surprised look, he'd pull him into a kiss.

Not a gentle one, either. A rough one, because when someone touched Arthur's wings he became desperate and he needed to convey that to Alfred by any means necessary. He'd straddle the taller man's hips without pulling away from the kiss, licking and sucking at Alfred's lower lip and making embarrassing little mewling sounds because moving around to straddle him was causing even more friction and he just loved it. Unable to stop himself, he'd start to grind his hips against Alfred's and the human would gasp in surprise and hopefully pleasure because if Arthur was going to feel good then he wanted Alfred to feel good, too. That would be the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss, and he would wrap his arms around the American's neck and press close to him, probably with a hand tangled in that ash blond hair to keep him from pulling away.

That was when Alfred would finally start participating, and he'd kiss back in a way that easily overpowered Arthur but he didn't care because he liked how strong and dominant Alfred was. Moans would escape him—they'd both be panting by now. His grinding would grow less and less controlled until he was begging for Alfred to please, please, _please_ just touch him. He needed that touch, needed to feel calloused palms on his body, rubbing and squeezing every single sensitive spot those warm hands could find. Every little stroke of the American's fingers would ratchet his need up a notch until he was whining out of desperation and Alfred would _finally_ help him take the borrowed boxers off, revealing how very aroused he was, and for the first time since they'd woken up he would look into Alfred's eyes and tell him that he loved him, that he needed him and he wanted Alfred to take him the way a lover should, and those blue eyes would be full of lust and love and they'd kiss again, and—

_Oh, bloody hell._

Now he'd done it. He could feel his body growing warmer despite the fact that his wings hadn't even been touched and he took deep breaths to try to calm himself before he got hard and disturbed Alfred. He didn't think he could live through that sort of embarrassment.

_Just think of bad things. Something sad or painful._

His mind instantly went to being struck by lightning and the terrifying pain that had followed—almost immediately, he felt his heart rate slowing. Then he thought about Ivan. Big, drunk, intimidating Ivan and how he'd tried to take Alfred away. How he'd grabbed Arthur's wing and broke it like it was nothing more than a twig. Remembering that pain was enough to make his eyes water, and in that moment he knew that he was safe from his body's reaction to his daydream. He shoved the memories back down into the dark corners of his mind where they belonged. Now, instead of being too warm, he felt cold and nervous, as if Ivan might burst through the bedroom door and snap his other wing just as easily as he had the first.

Trying not to whimper, Arthur buried his face in Alfred's chest and began to take long, deep breaths of the human's scent to comfort himself.

"Artie…? What's wrong?"

Damn it, he hadn't wanted to wake him! It was still too early for Alfred to be up—probably—and he felt guilty for having disturbed the taller man's sleep. "Nothing…just a bad dream…"

To his immense relief, the hands on his back moved down and the way Alfred was holding him turned into more of a hug.

"Tell me," the American whispered, his breath tickling Arthur's ear ever so slightly.

Arthur shifted, pressing himself even close to Alfred and nuzzling into his neck. "I remembered the lightning. And Ivan."

"Oh." The arms around him tightened protectively and, as he'd done in Arthur's daydream, he began rubbing slow circles on the Angel's lower back. Unlike in the daydream, it was simply comforting, and Arthur was grateful for that.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he apologized quietly, guilt lacing his tone. "You're probably still really tired."

"Naw, I'm all right," Alfred replied with a small grin. Arthur couldn't tell if he was lying or not, so he just accepted it as the truth.

"Okay."

The hand on his back continued its slow circles until Arthur was on the verge of falling asleep again, warm and comfortable once more.

"Hey, Artie?"

"Yes?"

Alfred seemed to hesitate. "What would you say to meeting some of my friends?"

Friends? His interest piqued, Arthur sat up slightly so he could look Alfred in the eye, putting their faces only a few inches apart. "Which friends?"

"The guys from work. Lovino, Antonio, Ludwig and Feliciano. We usually get together on one of our nights off once a month, and this month it's my turn to host. The plan is for them to come over a couple of days from now, during the evening when we'd usually be going to work. I told them I had an injured friend staying with me so I wasn't sure if it was still a good idea for them to come over, but I promised to ask you if you think you can handle it."

Green eyes clouding over as Arthur thought about it, he considered what it would be like to spend an evening with more than just Alfred for company. Not that Alfred wasn't all the company he needed—my, he was starting to sound sappy—but it could be fun to meet more humans, especially the ones Alfred liked and trusted and considered to be his friends.

"I…think it sounds like a lovely idea," he said after several moments, and Alfred grinned, showing his perfect white teeth and making his eyes sparkle even in the dim bedroom.

"Really? Great! Feli will be happy to hear that."

Arthur assumed that "Feli" was a nickname for Feliciano and smiled back at the excited American. "What do you do on these nights when you get together?"

Still grinning, Alfred settled back on the pillows and gently pulled Arthur down so he could cuddle the smaller man. "Watch action movies, eat junk food, play card games, BS with each other and have a few beers."

"You drink?" For some reason, it surprised Arthur. He hadn't actually witnessed Alfred having an alcoholic beverage, but that was no reason for him to assume than an adult American didn't drink. Alfred just didn't really seem like the type to spend his evenings drinking beer with his buddies. He seemed more like the type to build a blanket fort and watch super hero movies, or maybe that was just the side of him that Arthur had seen.

"Not very much. I, uh, don't really trust alcohol." Something in the way he said it told Arthur that there was a deeper reason for that, but he didn't push because he didn't want to ruin Alfred's good mood. "I'll only have a couple when the guys come over."

Nodding, Arthur placed his hand on Alfred's chest and spread his fingers apart, examining the contrast between his pale skin and Alfred's tanned color. He'd never thought about it before, but there was still a lot that he didn't know about the American. Like what his favorite color was, where he grew up, his favorite season or book or food.

_I hardly know him at all,_ he realized, saddened by the thought. _How can I truly be in love with him when I don't know any of those things? Even a good friend would know all that about Alfred._

It then occurred to him that Alfred didn't know any of those things about him , either, and yet the American had confessed to love him back. Twice now, he remembered the American saying it to him, and even though he'd been mostly asleep both times, he was sure they were real memories.

"Arthur."

"Hm?" Curious because Alfred had used his full name and sounded like he'd been thinking about something, the Angel looked up at him.

"Did you write something on the mirror in the bathroom?"

_Uh oh._

"Why do you ask?"

Alfred shrugged. "I noticed that it looked like something had been written on it then wiped off the other night when I showered and I kept forgetting to ask you about it 'til now. I know it wasn't me, so I figured I'd just ask."

Hesitating, Arthur went back to looking at the difference between his skin and Alfred's. What was he supposed to say? He couldn't very well admit that he'd written, "I want to fuck Alfred F. Jones" on the bathroom mirror moments before pleasuring himself with the American's face in his mind while pretending his own hands were Alfred's larger ones. That was completely out of the question. So he lied.

"Yes, I did. I was feeling a bit useless the other night while you were at work, so I decided to take a bath before bed. When the mirror fogged up, I wrote how I was feeling in it then wiped it away to try to get rid of the feeling."

"Oh. Did it work?"

Arthur smiled. "It did, actually. I haven't felt like that since."

"Good." A soft kiss was placed on his forehead and he blushed lightly before cuddling closer to the American.

"Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"What's your favorite color?"

"Deep blue."

"And your favorite book?"

This one took longer for the blue-eyed blond to answer. "I really like the Harry Potter series."

A smile broke out on Arthur's face. "I love those books!"

Chuckling, Alfred ruffled the Angel's hair playfully. "You have books in heaven?"

"Any book we want."

"Do you buy them or what?"

"No, we use magic, you silly human."

"Isn't that stealing?" Alfred teased.

"No," Arthur huffed, mildly offended, "we create an entirely new copy of the book with our own strength and knowledge of spells."

"So you copied down seven books using magic just so you wouldn't have to pay for them."

"Angels don't use money, you twat!"

Alfred laughed as he shielded himself from the smacks Arthur was trying to give him, eventually capturing the Angel's wrists and holding his arms so that all the petite man could do was squirm around and try to break free.

"You're lucky I don't have my wand! I'd have turned you into a mouse for accusing me of stealing!"

"Then I'll consider myself an incredibly lucky guy," Alfred chuckled, twisting so that Arthur fell onto his back. Still holding the pale wrists, the American pinned Arthur down and smirked at him. "Now, what was that you said about an Angel at his weakest being stronger than any human at his best?"

"Shut up," Arthur growled, glaring at the man above him. "I just don't want to hurt you by breaking free."

"Really."

"Yes, really!"

Lifting an eyebrow, the American looked down at Arthur in amusement. "I didn't realize you have such a temper, Artie."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Alfred."

"Like what?"

"As if I'm going to tell you." Arthur smirked, his expression one that clearly said he considered himself to be far superior to Alfred. "If you're so great, _human,_ then you should be able to figure it out on your own."

"But, Artie." The whining tone Alfred used took Arthur by surprise and he dropped his defenses as the blue-eyed man leaned closer, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. "I don't wanna guess. I want you to tell me like the nice Angel you are."

God damn it all. How on earth did Alfred know how to make such an irresistible face? His eyes had somehow gotten even bigger and bluer than should have been possible, and his hair was still messy from having been asleep. To top it off, his bottom lip stuck out ever so slightly. Without his glasses, he looked much younger than normal and Arthur just wanted to hug him and coddle him for eternity. Either that, or kiss him the way he'd been thinking about earlier just because that protruding lip was practically begging him to.

"U-um…what?" he squeaked, eyes glued to that lip and the way just a little bit of moisture made it glisten slightly in the light coming in through the window. The pout on Alfred's face morphed into a smirk and he leaned even closer, making Arthur press into the mattress nervously.

"What's the matter, Arthur? Did this human make you lose your train of thought?" It was a seductive whisper that never should have come out of Alfred's mouth, and all Arthur could think to say in reply was to challenge the American to make him lose his breath, too, but he bit his tongue and remained silent. Thoughts like that were dangerous when he was in such a compromising position with the man he wanted to kiss so badly.

Somehow, Alfred had gotten his knees on either side of Arthur and was hovering over him as he continued to hold the Angel's wrists down—Arthur couldn't help but think that, had their circumstances been simpler, they'd have started kissing by now. But that was a dangerous though, too, so he looked away from the blue eyes that had been boring into his own green ones and huffed.

"Get off me, you oaf."

Alfred rolled his eyes and kissed the Angel's cheek before getting up, making Arthur blush all over again.

"What do you want for breakfast?" the American asked as he got out of bed and stretched, unaware that Arthur was examining his back and ass with an expression that was borderline hungry. "I'm thinkin' blueberry waffles."

Arthur took a moment to get his thoughts under control. "Sounds delicious."

Turning, the American smiled that heart-melting smile and offered his hand to the Angel. "Then let's go make some."

His cheek still tinted with a blush, Arthur accepted the offered hand and stood, letting Alfred lead him out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Some mornings were almost more than he could handle.


	19. Chapter 19

This was it. It was happening. Nervous energy buzzed in Alfred's veins as he paced his small living room, hands clasped behind his back and blue eyes darting towards the front door every few moments.

_Relax. It's not the first time they've all come over, you know. There's no reason to get all worked up over it. Be cool, Alfred._

But it _was_ the first time he was going to introduce Arthur to another human, or anyone at all. The incident with Ivan didn't count—they hadn't exactly been introduced to each other—and Alfred was unreasonably excited to show his Angel off to his friends even though they wouldn't know Arthur was an Angel.

At that moment, in fact, Arthur was in the bedroom, wrapped up in a towel from his bath as he tried to decide what would be best to wear in order to hide his wings for the evening without being too uncomfortable or odd-looking. He eventually decided on a pair of dark jeans that were so baggy on him they looked silly and the same hoody he always wore for their walks to the park. It was his favorite one.

Alfred was in the middle of trying to sneak a peek at the Angel while he changed when a knock sounded at the door and he jumped about a foot in the air. Immediately, his face turned a dark red in embarrassment even though no one had seen him acting so skittish.

"Come in!" he called, hoping he didn't sound as breathless as he felt. The front door opened and the American placed himself in front of the bedroom door, pulling it closed so that whoever had arrived first wouldn't catch a glimpse of Arthur before the Angel was ready to be seen. He smiled at his guests, his usual grin slipping into its place, and moved forward to shake the taller of the two males' hand.

"Hey, guys! Glad you could make it!" he greeted cheerfully, earning an amused look.

"_Hola,_ Alfred. You seem to be in an extremely good mood tonight," Antonio commented as his hand was finally released. The Spaniard had his other arm draped around the shoulders of his companion and squeezed gently to encourage the shorter male to speak up.

"_Ciao,_" the other muttered before pulling out of Antonio's embrace and moving to flop down on the couch, his arms crossed over his narrow chest.

"Surly as always, Lovino," Alfred couldn't help but tease the Italian; his giddiness was really starting to get the better of him.

The only response he got from Lovino was a raised middle finger, not that it did anything to dampen his spirits. Instead, it inspired him to fetch three bottles of beer from the fridge and give one to each of his guests before opening the one he'd kept for himself. He'd barely gotten the bottle to his lips when another knock at the door had him putting the bottle down on the coffee table so he could open the door. Standing outside, bundled up against the cold, were Ludwig and Feliciano.

Grinning widely, Alfred stepped aside. "Come in, come in! I've got hot food and cold beer, and I'm in the mood to annoy the hell out of Lovino until dawn!"

That last part made Feliciano giggle as Lovino glared at the three of them from his place on the couch. Silently, Antonio moved to sit beside the shorter male and wrapped his arms around Lovino's waist, pulling him close.

"_Relájese, mi tomate. Vamos a divertirnos esta noche, ¿no?_" he whispered as he nuzzled his nose against the Italian's cheek. Lovino rolled his eyes and pushed at Antonio's chest in a fruitless attempt to get the larger man off of him.

"You know I don't speak Spanish, _bastardo._"

Antonio chuckled as if Lovino had called him some cute little pet name rather than a bastard. "Drink your beer and quit sulking. You know you'll have a good time as soon as you relax."

As much as he looked like he wanted to argue, Lovino simply muttered under his breath before picking up the beer Alfred had gotten for him and taking a long drink from it as Antonio smiled and continued to hold him.

Now slightly awkward due to the intimate exchange they'd just witnessed, Alfred and Ludwig shared a glance over Feliciano's head and silently agreed not to comment.

"Why don't I take your coats," Alfred suggested in a much calmer tone than he'd previously been using, "and you two can make yourselves comfortable."

Ludwig nodded and began helping Feliciano out of his many layers of warm clothing until the happy Italian was left in skinny jeans, sneakers and a sweater that was so ridiculous it _had_ to be homemade, probably by Feli himself. Nevertheless, he looked just as carefree and, quite frankly, adorable as always when he skipped over to the couch and plonked himself down on his brother's other side. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that Antonio was practically seducing Lovino right then and there, though Ludwig definitely noticed and hurriedly shrugged out of his own coat and scarf in order to place himself between Feliciano and the Spaniard with his soon-to-be victim.

Shaking his head but smiling slightly, Alfred hung up the German and Italian's coats in the small closet then looked over his shoulder. "Tonio, Lovino, you want me to take your coats?"

"_Sí, por favor,_" the Spaniard responded quietly, though his green eyes remained locked on the Italian that was now almost entirely seated on his lap as Lovino continued to drink his beer at record speeds. Without putting more than a few inches of space between himself and the smaller male, Antonio managed to remove his coat and hat then somehow did the same to Lovino—to everyone's surprise, the Italian didn't struggle or curse or yell or even blush. Lovino quietly allowed himself to be stripped of his outer layers and even let Antonio kiss his cheek afterwards, then set his now-empty beer bottle on the coffee table.

"Are we gonna do something or just sit here?" he demanded, though his tone lacked its usual bite and when he frowned at Alfred, the blond thought Lovino's eyes didn't look quite focused.

_I always forget how much of a lightweight he is, _Al thought absently as he picked up his own beer and took a small drink after hanging up Antonio and Lovino's coats.

"Ve~Ludwig, can I have a beer, too?" Feliciano asked, looking up at the German with the biggest puppy eyes he could manage. They all knew Ludwig would say yes. Not right away—he always made Feliciano wait for a while before he deemed it was safe for the small Italian to have a drink. Believe it or not, Feliciano was even more of a lightweight than Lovino was, and the moodier Italian was tipsy from one bottle.

"Not yet, Feli," Ludwig replied gently. "You should have somezhing to eat first."

The mention of food wiped the idea of alcohol clean out of Feliciano's mind and he immediately ran into the kitchen in search of something to eat, babbling excitedly about making pasta and pizza and who knows what else. Alfred decided that now was an excellent chance to see what was taking Arthur so long to get dressed—the Angel had yet to make an appearance, and he usually only took a couple of minutes to dress after his showers.

His beer in hand, Alfred went to the bedroom door and knocked softly before pushing it open a few inches. "Arthur? You okay in there?" Peering into the room, he saw Arthur sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed and silent. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Alfred stepped into the bedroom and shut the door behind himself then moved to sit by Arthur, slipping his arm around the Angel's waist. Wordlessly, Arthur leaned into the embrace and sighed quietly.

"Tell me what's bugging you," Alfred urged quietly, upset to think that something was wrong with his Angel.

Arthur hesitated. "I just…what if they don't like me? I haven't directly interacted with humans in decades. What if I say something offensive or stupid? What if I make a total git of myself in front of your friends?"

"You won't," the taller man assured him. "You're an Angel, Artie. You've been working with humans all that time, indirectly or otherwise. You know how to act around people. Hell, you've been living with me for almost a month, and you haven't done a single stupid or offensive thing this whole time."

The Angel smiled a little in spite of himself. "True. Though I don't know what I could possibly do or say to offend you. You just laugh at me if I say anything even mildly insulting, you twat."

"That's because heroic Americans like me don't let dead British dudes get to us," Alfred replied casually, then stood and pulled Arthur to his feet. "Come on, the beers are open and Feli's about to start cooking. Time to meet the humans."

"You make it sound like you're taking me home to meet your parents," Arthur muttered, then blushed to imagine what that would be like. God, he'd be so nervous he wouldn't even be able to stand up. But he didn't have time to dwell on that thought because Alfred had opened the door and pulled him out into the living room; his blush darkened to realize that the American was holding onto his hand and had absent-mindedly laced their fingers.

_We look like a couple._ The thought made him smile shyly and he lifted his green-eyed gaze to find three strange men looking at him curiously.

"Guys, this is my friend, Arthur. Arthur, this is Antonio, Lovino, and Ludwig. The one in the kitchen is Feliciano," Alfred introduced them, indicating each person as he said the names. "We were in the military together and managed to get jobs at the same place, so now we're all stuck with each other until further notice."

Arthur's smile widened and he waved a little. "Good evening."

Interest sparked in the one Alfred had called Antonio's eyes—they were green, darker than Arthur's but still vivid and bright. "You're British?"

"Yes, just visiting America on business," Arthur replied, somewhat pleased that his accent would seem so out of place here. Antonio had a clear Spanish accent, and the quiet singing that was coming from the kitchen definitely wasn't in English. It sounded like Italian, but he would have to pay closer attention to be sure.

"Alfred said you are staying vit him until you are recovered from an injury," Ludwig pointed out, keen, icy blue eyes examining Arthur for signs of an injury that would require the American to miss work. Arthur almost thought those eyes could see right through his clothes and rustled his wings nervously then realized what he'd done and hoped that no one else had noticed.

"Yes, I ran into a bit of bad luck during that lightning storm last month," he explained vaguely, hoping to avoid any questions that would be tricky to answer without giving himself away or make it obvious that he was hiding something.

"That's too bad," Antonio sympathized, and Arthur noticed for the first time that the third man, Lovino, was seated on Antonio's lap and had his arm around the taller brunet's neck as he leaned back against him. Lovino noticed Arthur looking at him and tried to glare, though he didn't quite manage it.

"Whatchoo starin' at?" he asked, his words running together slightly.

A blush darkened Arthur's cheeks and he allowed Alfred to lead him over to the chair that had yet to be claimed. To his embarrassment, the chair wasn't big enough for them to sit side-by-side, so he ended up sitting in Alfred's lap much the way Lovino was currently sitting in Antonio's.

_Now we really do look like a couple._ Obviously, Lovino and Antonio were together. At least, judging by the way the Spaniard kept placing kisses on the other male, they were. Arthur felt a small surge of jealousy over the fact that they could openly be so intimate while he had to hide how much he cared for Alfred. Well…maybe not…

As casually as he could, Arthur took the beer out of Alfred's hand and took a drink then choked back the cough it caused. He hadn't been much of a drinker in his human days and certainly not since he'd become an Angel. This modern beer was completely unknown to him. Regardless, he forced himself to take a second drink before he put the bottle back in Alfred's hand. The look on the American's face as he stared at the Angel was one of pure astonishment, and Arthur couldn't help but smirk.

"I'm supposed to be human and fit in, right?" he whispered so no one else could hear, then placed a teasing kiss on Alfred's cheek. "Watch me."

XXX

Music blared from an old stereo system that Alfred had dug out of the back of the closet and set up on top of the TV. It was playing something loud and fast that Arthur wouldn't have recognized even if he hadn't consumed between four and seven bottles of beer. He'd lost count after four, but he didn't think he'd had more than seven. Maybe he'd had more, but he didn't particularly care at that moment. All he cared about was that he'd never felt so completely relaxed before in his entire existence. He needed to drink more often.

"Alfred!" he shouted over the music, trying to get the American's attention from he was standing on the other side of the coffee table from him. They'd all been dancing to the music a few minutes ago, and Arthur had gone into the kitchen for a glass of water only to return and find that no one was dancing anymore.

Said American was sprawled on the couch beside Ludwig, an open bottle in his hand that he drank from every moments. The other side of the couch was occupied by Ludwig, who was busy exchanging countless kisses with Feliciano as the Italian sat in the larger man's lap, his hands curled into the fabric of the German's unbuttoned shirt. Feliciano had lost his sweater over an hour ago, leaving him in a white tank top that made his tiny frame look beautifully delicate, and his skinny jeans had come unbuttoned and unzipped so that they hung low and loose on his hips. Ludwig's hands were firmly planted on the Italian's backside, one of which had slipped inside the jeans, and he didn't appear to realize that Alfred was sitting only a couple of feet away as he proceeded to turn and press Feliciano into the couch while tugging the smaller man's pants down even further.

Both blonds had had more to drink than Arthur, but then, they were both much larger than him and could probably handle more alcohol than he could. They were both drunk, as was Feliciano, though the Italian hadn't had even a full bottle. Antonio and Lovino, who were currently occupying the chair that Alfred and Arthur had abandoned a few hours ago, were the drunkest of the lot.

Had he been sober, Arthur would have been horribly embarrassed to witness the two of them, but as it was, he found himself giggling and blushing uncontrollably when his gaze landed on the almost naked couple as they shared what looked to him like a rather ferocious kiss and pressed together as if trying to fuse their bodies into one person. Antonio was seated normally on the chair and Lovino was straddling him, his hands tangled in the Spaniard's hair as Antonio held onto the smaller male's hips, helping him to roll them in a grinding movement. Their sounds were audible even over the music and they clearly didn't give a damn that they weren't alone. It was really kind of…hot.

Watching them was surprisingly arousing and Arthur's attention went back to Alfred, who still hadn't realized that the Angel had yelled his name and was busy frowning at the now-empty bottle in his hand. Impatient and upset with having been ignored, the petite man stepped up onto the coffee table and, after deciding that it was too warm in the apartment for a hoody, removed the garment and threw it at Alfred with all the force and aim his alcohol-inhibited body could manage. "Alfred Jones!"

Startled to have been hit in the face by a hoody that seemingly came out of nowhere, Alfred sat up on the couch and stared up at Arthur, frowning as he tried to focus his hazy blue eyes. He couldn't come up with anything to say in response to having his name shouted, as distracted as he was by the shirtless Angel standing before him. His eyes moved up and down the half-naked body in obvious appreciation and he gave a crooked grin that betrayed what he was thinking.

Smirking now, Arthur stepped down from the coffee table—he had to spread his wings to keep from losing his balance and falling on his face—and grabbed onto Alfred's hands to pull the taller man to his feet. Without any warning, the Angel traded his grip on Alfred's hands for one on the front of the American's shirt and pulled him down so they were eye level. He looked straight into those blue eyes that had seemed impossibly clear since the first moment he'd seen them and his breath caught in his throat.

Half-formed thoughts and wishes and fears raced through his mind, chasing each other around and around and around until Arthur didn't even know what he was more scared of—doing the one thing he'd been fantasizing about for so long and maybe coming to regret it or not doing anything and wishing for the rest of eternity that he'd done it when he had the chance. It was impossible to get it straight in his head with the buzz of alcohol and the ever-present music that boomed inside his skull. The only thing he knew for sure at that moment was that he loved Alfred and he wanted the American to know it.

And, before he could change his mind, Arthur leaned forward and kissed the blue-eyed man full on the lips.


	20. Chapter 20

He tasted like coffee and the burgers he'd eaten earlier that night, and Arthur couldn't get enough of him. Abandoning every promise he'd made to himself, the Angel pressed his body against the American's and continued to kiss him until Alfred got over the shock and started to kiss back. And that was even better.

Without pulling away, Arthur stumbled back towards the door to the bedroom and forced Alfred to follow along as their kiss quickly grew in intensity. Moments later they'd managed to get the door closed behind them and had completely forgotten about the four people on the other side. The bedroom was dark and quieter than the living room and Arthur wasted no time in pulling Alfred's shirt off over the taller man's head. Finally, he could fulfill all those daydreams about the American; his hands slid over Alfred's torso as if they had minds of their own and Arthur was less than two seconds away from following them with his tongue when he suddenly found himself being lifted off the floor and carried to the bed.

Gentle despite being drunk, Alfred deposited the smaller man on the bed and moved over him, leaning close to kiss at the Angel's neck. "Artie…"

"Mm…yes…?"

"I'm gonna make you scream my name like I've wanted to do since I found you in that alleyway," the American whispered huskily, and Arthur felt his body heat pleasantly in anticipation. His only response was to capture Alfred's face in his hands and kiss him again, tongue sliding out to meet the taller man's, tangling as their breath mixed together and Alfred pressed his body down on the Angel's.

Arthur gasped at the pressure, his legs shamelessly falling open in invitation. He felt Alfred grin into the kiss and a large, rough hand slid down his chest, making him arch, and a moment later the hand had moved onto the buckle of the belt that was keeping Arthur's much-too-large jeans on his body. It took only a few seconds for the belt to fall slack and the fabric of the jeans pooled loosely about Arthur's waist. Two strong hands gripped his ribs and lifted him slightly.

"Kick them off," Alfred ordered, his tone gruffer than before, and Arthur shivered before doing as he was told. The hands slid down to his hips, catching the fabric of his boxers and tugging them to his knees.

Cold air on his quickly hardening member made Arthur open his eyes just as Alfred began kissing his chest, warm tongue dragging over the pale flesh. "Ah…A-Alfred…we…we can't…" Teeth scraping against his skin caused goosebumps to spread over his entire body.

"Can't what?"

"U-um…" God, that was distracting. Alfred had a very talented mouth and the git was doing his absolute best to drive Arthur crazy with it. Light kisses all over his chest, shoulders and neck accompanied by small nips and even licks, and every time he opened his mouth hot breath rushed over Arthur's skin, making every touch that much more delicious. And then those calloused hands were on his thighs, his boxers now completely gone, rubbing gently and squeezing so that the Angel moaned softly and squirmed. They moved up slowly until they were on his hips, and then they held him down as Alfred's talented mouth made its way lower, and lower.

"Alfred!"

He couldn't help it. His hands tangled themselves into those ash blond locks and he shouted the American's name, hips lifting as heat enveloped his member. And then Alfred's head began to move, up and down, his tongue twisting and rubbing in ways that shouldn't have been possible until Arthur knew he was about to come undone, until his stomach was wound as tight as a spring. He was sweating despite the cold air that somehow got into the apartment from the winter outside. It was difficult to breathe—the taller man's actions made him gasp and pant as his lungs fought for air.

"A-Alfred…Alfred…god…ah…"

And then the mouth was gone, and the Angel fell limp against the mattress despite the tension humming throughout his body.

"Arthur." Gentle kisses dropped on the heaving chest, and he couldn't help but flick his tongue out to capture the beads of sweat that gathered on that delicate body. He liked the way it made Arthur shudder, liked how the Angel gasped his name as if it was the only word he could remember at a time like this. Which, he decided, was how it should be.

"Yes," the petite man gasped, and Alfred smiled to know how out of breath he'd managed to get the Angel.

"I wanna make love with you, Artie," he whispered, moving up to put his lips by the golden blond's ear, "and you seem to want it, too." Pausing, he slid his tongue around the curve of that perfectly shaped ear then kissed the space just behind it. "But if I'm wrong, and you don't want to have sex with me, then say it now, 'cause I'm not gonna wait much longer."

The sound of a quiet whimper made him draw away enough to look into Arthur's eyes, and he kissed the smaller man on impulse, loving the hint of tea and honey on the Angel's tongue.

"I do," Arthur managed once they broke apart again. "I do, Alfred. You have no idea how much I want you to take me. I can't even put into words how much I want it."

The American smiled and leaned down to kiss his soon-to-be-lover's neck, then froze at the next thing that came out of Arthur's mouth.

"But I can't have sex with you, Alfred."

Instantly, he drew away, sitting up as his alcohol-slowed mind tried to process it. "You…can't? Why the hell not?"

As if it were all the answer that question required, Arthur propped himself up on his elbows and spread his wings, grimacing at the slight discomfort in the one that was still healing.

"I don't care that you're an Angel, Artie!" Alfred burst out, his frustration clear. "I don't care! I love you, all right? It doesn't matter to me that we're different!"

"I…I know, Alfred," Arthur said quietly as he shifted onto his knees and took the American's face into his hands. Gently, he kissed the taller man and wished that he would never have to pull away. "I love you, too, and I don't care, either. Believe me, if I could, I would make love to you in less than a heartbeat."

"Why can't you?" The question came out as a whine and Arthur could have sworn he saw tears forming in those blue eyes that he loved so much. "Please, Artie. I need you…I'll go crazy if I have to take this for one more day…"

"I know, love. I know." Wrapping his arms around the taller man's neck, Arthur pressed himself against Alfred's body and sighed quietly.

He was still hard, still unbelievably close to his release thanks to that bloody mouth of the American's, and he was drunk enough to kiss him, drunk enough to let him touch him and suck him off, and definitely drunk enough to do it all back. But he wasn't drunk enough to risk his wings. There was no such thing as drunk enough to risk his wings.

"Artie…"

"We can't because it would destroy me, Alfred. Angels can't have sex. It's forbidden. I'd never get to see you again, and I can't do that."

"Never?" Now he was almost certain that the American was about to start crying, and he'd never felt so guilty in his entire existence.

"Never."

Alfred hesitated, his arms winding around Arthur's waist to hold the Angel tightly. "But…I…"

"Shhh," Arthur soothed, then pulled back and looked into Alfred's eyes once more. "We can do everything short of sex, love, and you've got such a wonderful, talented mouth, it'd be shame to waste it."

That made the American blush, and Arthur smiled to see it.

"Would it be all right if I just sucked you off nice and sweet?" the Angel crooned, not caring that, were he sober, he would never in a million years have said such a thing. "I haven't done any of this in a long time, but I bet I can make you moan."

The blush on Alfred's cheeks darkened and he nodded mutely, at a loss for words. Gently, the Angel pushed on his shoulders until he found himself lying on his back, and then Arthur was kissing him again, dominantly this time, leaving no room for Alfred to object or even try to take control.

Slender, skilled fingers traced down his body until they found his pants and then they made short work of them, until his jeans and boxers were gone so quickly that he wondered for a moment if Arthur could use magic even without his wand. It was only for a moment, however, because then a tongue was following the same path that the fingers had taken and he found that he couldn't really focus on anything at all.

"Ooh, big boy," Arthur commented playfully, one finger lazily stroking up and down the side of Alfred's erection.

"Nn…f-fucking tease…"

"Oh, yes, love, I am." The finger slid up to twirl around the tip before rubbing ever so gently over the vein that was visible; Alfred whined in the back of his throat. "Be nice and loud for me, okay?"

He didn't have a chance to respond.

Apparently, despite being an Angel and supposedly "pure," Arthur was just as big of a tease as he'd claimed to be. The winged bastard had made him think he was going to be nice about it, but it seemed like he wanted to torture Alfred, instead. Rather than take all of the American's length, as Alfred wanted him to do, he'd stopped just after the head and sucked so gently that it almost tickled. And that damned finger was still stroking up and down as if Arthur had all the time in the world.

"Y-you're not an Angel," Alfred forced out after nearly thirty seconds of this, his hips lifting in an attempt to push himself deeper into the smaller man's mouth.

Arthur smirked and gently pressed his tongue against the slit he'd discovered so that Alfred choked out a groan. "Then what am I, love?"

"Hng…d-devil…"

"But you like it," the green-eyed man purred, finger continuing that maddeningly slow stroking motion that made Alfred grit his teeth.

"N-no I d-don't…it's n-not fair," the taller man argued, sitting up a little to glare at the Angel. "You're—ah—b-being cruel!"

Suddenly, Arthur's wings extended and flapped once to propel the Angel forward to land on top of Alfred, pinning the American down with strength that seemed impossible coming from a man his size.

"Cruel? Is that what you think?" His tone made Alfred swallow thickly; a smirk curled up one side of Arthur's mouth. "I can be _much _crueler than this, love. Should I show you?"

"U-um…no…I'm okay…"

Arthur chuckled, stroking the American's cheek as he kissed his nose. "That's a good boy, Alfie." Before the bespectacled man could respond, Arthur slid back again and took Alfred's length into his mouth once more. Unlike the first time, he didn't stop with the head, choosing instead to painfully slowly take him inch by inch until he had all of him. Only then did he begin to suck gently, his tongue rubbing.

"A-Artie," Alfred managed, "y-you said you'd be n-nice."

"I know." Without warning, he bit gently and lifted his head so that his teeth tugged at the sensitive skin.

"Ah!" The American's back arched off the bed as he grabbed onto the blankets beneath him, his head tilting back at the pleasure that shot through him. "Arthur!"

The Angel smirked again, sucking harder as his head bobbed rapidly. His hands went to the larger man's hips, pinning them down with that unnatural strength as his nails dug in just slightly.

God, he'd never felt anything like it. Ivan had sucked him off on occasion, but it hadn't felt like this. Those times had been domineering, little more than a way for the Russian to stake his claim on Alfred's body. This was different. This was Arthur, tasting him, teasing him and making him want to call the Angel's name as loudly as he could. So he did.

Even though he couldn't move his hips, he arched off the bed as best he could and let out a long moan that turned into the Angel's name. With trembling fingers, he pulled one hand free of the blankets and reached up to his hair. "A-Artie..."

"Yes, love?" Lips brushed against his thigh.

"Don't stop," Alfred commanded breathlessly, then curled his fingers into his hair and pulled gently. Immediately, heat rushed to his stomach and he gasped, for once grateful how sensitive that one bit of hair was.

Curious green eyes looked up at him. "Why are you pulling your hair?"

Alfred met the other man's gaze then looked away shyly, nervous to share this secret. "It's my erogenous zone," he mumbled, and Arthur grinned.

"Really?"

The American nodded, face heating with both embarrassment and arousal at the way Arthur was looking at him.

"Keep pulling on it," the Angel commanded, leaning down again.

Alfred barely had time to nod again before Arthur wrapped his hand around the base of the American's member and squeezed, forcing a groan from the taller man. Purely as a reaction, he tugged on his hair again and bucked weakly now that his hips were free of the Angel's hold. Unprepared, Arthur struggled to relax his jaw enough to take the taller man's length without choking.

"S-sorry," Alfred gasped, but Arthur had already adjusted and started sucking again. This time, he let his teeth scrape over the other man's skin with every bob of his head, twisted his tongue around the object in his mouth and squeezed gently with the hand still wrapped around Alfred's base.

His grip tightening on his hair, Alfred pulled until he was borderline abusing himself, though he managed to keep from ripping any of the strands out. God, he was close. Despite his claim that he hadn't done anything like this in a long time, Arthur was definitely very good at what he was doing, and Alfred soon found that he couldn't take a breath without it leaving him in the form of a groan or needy whine. The occasional whimper escaped him, if the Angel's teeth touched a bit harder than usual, and the whole while he fought to retain some semblance of thought as mind-numbing pleasure flooded his senses.

"F-f-fuck, Artie!" he shouted when the Angel suddenly started tonguing the head of his erection, licking at the pre-cum that would have slicked the length long ago had Arthur not been sucking it off.

"You're so close, Alfred," the shorter man purred, free hand rubbing the American's thigh. "I can feel how ready your body is." Gently, oh, so gently, he squeezed Alfred's member while slowly moving his hand up towards the head. It stopped just below, gripping firmly but not so tightly as to be painful, and then Arthur took the tip of Alfred's length into his head and sucked just the way he had the first time.

His frustration getting the better of him, Alfred groaned and lifted his hips to try to force himself deeper into the Angel's mouth again. "Not this again, Arthur!"

A warning squeeze made him bit his lip to hold back a whine.

"I'm going to make you cum, Alfred," Arthur cooed, a smirk dancing around his spit-and-pre-cum-coated lips, "and you're going to scream my name while I do it."

Alfred swallowed thickly but nodded all the same—no one had ever spoken to him like that before, and he didn't think he'd have been able to refuse the Angel's command even if he'd wanted to.

"Good boy."

His hand twisting, Arthur once more took the head of Alfred's member into his mouth and sucked as hard as he could, knowing that the American would come undone within seconds.

"_Arthur!"_

Just as the Angel had thought, Alfred's hips bucked up and only a moment later he came, his seed filling the petite man's mouth despite Arthur's attempts to swallow it quickly enough. By the time Alfred's orgasm diminished and he collapsed on the bed, panting and trembling, Arthur had managed to get all but a small trace that escaped onto his lip. Deciding to leave it there for now, he crawled up the American's sweaty body until they were face to face then waited for Alfred to look at him. Only when hazy blue eyes landed on his face did he deliberately lick at the white substance, secretly pleased at the way Alfred's eyes widened and how his mouth fell open slightly.

"Was that…?"

"Of course it was, love. You didn't think I would spit it out, did you?" the Angel whispered, smiling innocently as if he hadn't just finished sucking off the man he'd been living with for nearly a month.

"I…I don't know," Alfred managed, still surprised by what Arthur had just done. "You didn't have to swallow it."

Still smiling, Arthur lowered himself to rest comfortably on the American's chest, slim fingers drawing lazy circles on the tan skin. "I didn't? Then consider it a favor. You can pay me back by doing the same for me."

Momentarily speechless, Alfred nodded as thoughts of doing just that filled his head.

Arthur reached down and kissed him softly. "You're such a good boy, Alfred," he teased.

That was a bit much for Alfred. Taking the Angel off-guard, he reached up and deliberately stroked along Arthur's uninjured wing between the first and second joints. Instantly, a shudder racked Arthur's body and he moaned loudly, back arching as his wing flexed to try to increase the contact.

"A-Alfred…do that again…"

Finally, it was Alfred's turn to smirk—Arthur was begging, and he was only too happy to oblige. With light touches, he stroked down the arm of the wing then back up to the joint closest to Arthur's back. He squeezed gently just above where the feathers melted into flesh, feeling the muscles beneath he skin twitch and flex.

"Ah! F-fuck," Arthur cursed weakly as a spasm shook him, that same spasm that always happened when his wings were touched, and before he knew what he was doing, he straddled Alfred's waist and began moving his hips against the taller man's in a way that betrayed how incredibly desperate that little bit of pressure had made him. The friction drove a moan from Alfred, who squeezed the wing in his grasp a second time so that Arthur gasped and bucked.

"Hng! Hah….A-Alfred…you'd better do something about this before I—nng—do it myself!"

Alfred barely managed to nod as he sat up once more and crashed his lips onto the Angel's in a fierce kiss, his free hand moving to cup that slender hip—it fit his hand perfectly, just as he'd always imagined it would—while he continued to stroke and squeeze the sensitive wing. Each little touch seemed to force Arthur's arousal higher and higher, until the Angel had his nails buried in Alfred's back as he trembled with the need for his release.

"Y-you bloody g-g-git!" A sound somewhere between a whine and a growl sounded in Arthur's throat and he wrenched his wing away from Alfred's hand despite the fact that the American's touch was the most amazing thing he'd ever felt. "I can't cum from that! It just makes it worse!"

Panting lightly from the intensity of the kiss that had only just now ended, Alfred nuzzled the Angel's cheek as he shifted beneath him. "Makes w-what worse?"

"This!" Arthur sat back on his heels and pointed at the hardened mass between his legs, which looked as though it might become painful if it wasn't tended to soon. "I told you my wings are sensitive! Now quit toying with me because if you're not going to let me release then I'll fucking do it myself!"

The thought of Arthur pleasuring himself, even if it meant Alfred didn't get to be the one to make the Angel scream, was almost too much for the American. He could just picture how the Angel would do it, the way his face would look as he rubbed and palmed himself with those delicate little hands. Would he finger himself, too? It would be such a delicious thing to watch—Al thought seeing the Angel touch himself would be impossibly arousing and he was almost tempted to let Arthur do it, but he still wanted to make the smaller man scream his name, even if he couldn't do it the way he really wanted to.

"Artie, we can do anything but actual sex, right?" he asked slowly, blue eyes lifting to meet frustrated green.

"Yes, anything." A split second later, Arthur found himself once more on his back with Alfred hovering over him.

"Good," the American whispered, his tone lowering into a seductive purr, "cause I'm gonna fuck you with my fingers."

Green eyes widened slightly and, without consciously deciding to, Arthur let his legs fall open once more. "Yes," he breathed, hands twisting into the blankets beneath him in anticipation.

A chuckle escaped the taller man and he kissed the Angel's chest before sitting up and slipping three fingers into his mouth. He sucked on them vigorously as Arthur watched his every move, making sure to coat the digits in saliva since he didn't have any lube; he'd never bought any after leaving Ivan, since he hadn't thought he'd need it. When he was sure they were wet enough, he took his fingers from his mouth and slid his hand beneath Arthur as the Angel wordlessly lifted his hips. He didn't ask if the petite man was ready, didn't warn him that this might be uncomfortable or a little rough. The moment he found the Brit's entrance, he stroked it with one slick finger so that Arthur shivered before quickly pushing inside.

Arthur bit his lip to hold back a cry of pain, his body tensing instinctively before he forced himself to relax once more. The finger was already moving inside him, twisting and wiggling and going in and out at a pace that was a little uncomfortable, but the pain was fading quickly. "A-Alfred…nn…"

"Yeah?"

The Angel's back arched as a second finger entered his body, moaning softly as they spread apart to stretch him. "Mm…s-suck me off, t-too," he ordered, though his tone was closer to pleading than commanding. Luckily, Alfred chose not to comment on that and instead put that wonderful mouth of his to good use. One of Arthur's hands abandoned its grip on the blankets and began stroking through the American's hair as a warm tongue began gently rubbing against his member, licking at the pre-cum gathered on the tip and making Arthur shudder with pleasure.

"You're really good at that," he murmured, then groaned rather loudly as Alfred finally took him into his mouth, sucking and licking exactly as he'd done before. At the same time, he pushed a third finger into Arthur so that the Angel's hips bucked up; he was careful to move with the smaller man so as not to choke on him.

As soon as Arthur relaxed again, Alfred began moving his fingers slowly, twisting a bit every now and then to help the smaller man become accustomed to the invasion. Gradually, the speed of his fingers increased as he pushed them deeper and deeper, twisting and bending and spreading to drive every sexual sound imaginable from the Angel, and Arthur couldn't get enough.

He'd never felt like this before. Not even Francis had been able to make him this completely desperate. But now, with those tough-skinned fingers delving into him over and over and over, stretching him impossibly wide before twisting and rubbing against his inner walls, Arthur was amazed he hadn't gone over the edge already. Maybe it was because, while Alfred's fingers were a bit rough and worked him impatiently, his mouth couldn't have been gentler. The contrast was driving him mad. His hips couldn't decide what to do—buck with every thrust of the American's fingers, or roll gently to follow the movements of that oh-so-talented tongue. His fingers had long ago become tangled in Alfred's hair just to try to hold on, and the sounds Arthur made varied between groans that tore from his throat and sighs that dropped from his lips so softly they were almost too quiet to hear.

Sweat began to bead on his skin again as his body struggled to keep up with what was being done to him. The fingers spread apart suddenly and he gasped Alfred's name, only to purr immediately afterwards as the head between his legs lifted slightly and a tongue was dragged along the underside of his cock. He was panting for air, hips twisting to try and guide Alfred to that one spot that would finally, _finally _take him over the edge. The sparks of pleasure racing up his spine made him curl his toes, made his back arch off the bed.

"G-god, Alfred….more…f-faster…I…I want to scream…"

The mouth that had hold of him smirked, and then the mouth wasn't so gentle anymore. Teeth scraped over the sensitive flesh, making the Angel shudder as Alfred sucked him harder, his head bobbing faster as that torturous tongue rubbed and flicked at his tip; Arthur's grip tightened on both the blankets and the American's hair as Alfred's mouth caught up to the pace of his fingers. Helpless to stop himself, Arthur bucked up into the taller man's mouth before pushing his hips back down on those fingers, moaning the American's name as he did so. He was so close, so god damn close. Every bit of friction wound his stomach tighter and tighter until it seemed impossible that he hadn't released yet.

"Artie," Alfred hummed without taking his mouth away, the vibrations making their way up the Angel's length pleasantly.

"Y-ye—ah!—yes?"

"What do you want me to do?"

He couldn't be serious! "You fucking know what I want you to do!" Arthur yelled in frustration, making Alfred chuckle and send another round of vibrations up around the Angel's member; his back arched at the sensation.

"I want you to say it."

Despite the fingers still thrusting in and out of him and the fact that Alfred was now dropping damp kisses on his hips and thighs, Arthur bit his lip and remained silent.

"Make me scream," he whispered after a few moments, shutting his eyes tightly against what he knew was coming.

Alfred didn't bother replying. The Angel had said exactly what he'd wanted to hear, and he was only too happy to fulfill his almost-lover's wishes. Taking the petite man's length into his mouth once more, he relaxed his jaw and throat so he could deep-throat him, humming as he did so and loving the way it made the fingers in his hair tighten. All he needed to do now was find it.

Fingers spreading, he pushed them as deep into the other man's body as he could and rubbed against the hot walls, searching as he continued to suck and hum. His hand twisted to provide new angles and he began again, until his finger brushed against a small bump that made Arthur's hips jerk upwards.

"_Alfred!"_

Smirking now, Alfred drew his fingers back until they'd almost come out of the Angel before roughly thrusting them back in to ram into that bump, and the sound that tore from Arthur was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. The Angel yanked on his hair as he bucked, trying to force himself even deeper into Alfred's mouth before slamming back down so that his fingers hit that spot once more. Alfred used his free hand to pin the paler man's hips down as he began a fast pace of rubbing and thrusting his fingers against the bump that was obviously Arthur's prostate.

Within a minute, the Angel had been reduced to a trembling, writhing mess that was coming apart at the seams. Every time Alfred touched that bump, Arthur called his name in voice that was just short of a scream and Alfred absolutely loved the way it sounded. He could tell how very close the Angel was and knew it wouldn't take much to push him over.

His fingers twisted again, bending to rub against that bump, and at the same time he dragged his teeth over the Angel's member from base to tip. Just as he was about to pull his fingers away again, a shudder went through Arthur's body and he bucked as a scream tore from him from the force of his release—Alfred's jaw went slack and he swallowed quickly to avoid choking, fingers and mouth still moving as the Angel's body was wracked by his orgasm.

"A-Alfred…Alfred," Arthur panted once he'd stilled, eyes unfocused beneath half-closed lids.

Gently, the American removed his fingers from the Angel's body and slid the now soft length out of his mouth before kissing up the still-heaving chest. "Arthur," he whispered back, a smile on his lips, "you're beautiful."

A blush darkened the color that had been fading from the smaller man's face and he struggled to sit up, finally managing to with the American's help. "Th-thank you."

Alfred pulled the Angel to his chest and cuddled him, leaning back against the headboard comfortably. "You're welcome."

Moving slowly, the two laid down together, not bothering to pull the blankets over their sweat-drenched bodies. It was too hot for blankets, anyway, and being so close to each other provided plenty of warmth.

"I love you, Arthur," Alfred murmured, already starting to fall asleep.

"Mm," the Angel hummed back, eyes closed and even closer to sleep than Alfred was.

Before he finally drifted off, the American placed a soft kiss on the other man's head and silently prayed that things wouldn't be awkward in the morning.

X

Author's note:

Muahahaha! And you all thought I was going to let them have sex. Nope. Not yet. Sorry to disappoint you (I'm not actually sorry). Feel free to tell me how upset you are that they didn't screw, though!


	21. Chapter 21

The light flicked on and Alfred instantly scrunched up his face against the pain in his still-closed eyes, mentally cursing at whoever thought it would be a good idea to do something so cruel. God, his head hurt. His mouth felt dry and sticky and there was a bitter taste stuck to the back of his throat, but there was a softer, more pleasant taste, as well. After a few moments, he recognized the taste for what it was and smiled in spite of everything else. He could still taste Arthur.

"Hey, you lazy American bastard, get out of bed. It's almost one."

Alfred recognized the voice as Lovino's and couldn't help but groan. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, then froze; his eyes snapped open. Arthur was lying between him and the door. And the lights were on. And Arthur was naked.

_Shit_

Before another second could pass, he grabbed the blankets that were draped over his waist and yanked as hard as he could, pulling them up over his own torso as well as making sure that Arthur was covered from his neck down.

From his place in the doorway, Lovino rolled his eyes. "Just get up, _bastardo._" Turning, he yelled for someone to get his lazy brother off the couch and into the kitchen so they could have breakfast, and Al heard Antonio laugh from somewhere in the apartment. Next to appear in the doorway was Ludwig.

"Morning," the German muttered, looking rather embarrassed as he kept his eyes lowered, then he shut the door so Alfred and Arthur could get dressed in privacy.

Now able to relax, Alfred sat up and stretched, causing the blankets to fall back down to his waist. He felt a little stiff in addition to the headache and light sensitivity, but he knew all the symptoms of his hangover would be gone by the time he had to go to work. Still rolling his shoulders, he turned and looked down at the sleeping Angel beside him and a fond smile found its way onto his lips.

"Artie," he whispered, leaning close and placing a light kiss on the petite man's temple, "wake up."

Mumbled words escaped the Angel and he shifted but didn't wake. Alfred couldn't help but grin as an idea that he thought was absolutely genius occurred to him. Shifting even closer to the other man, he gently tilted Arthur's face upwards.

"Come one, my Angel, time to wake up," he cooed affectionately before pressing his lips against Arthur's in a soft good-morning-kiss as let his eyes fall closed. At first, the sleeping Angel didn't react at all, but after a few moments, Alfred felt pressure being returned against his own mouth and smiled as he continued kissing the smaller blond. Then suddenly the pressure was gone and he opened his eyes to find Arthur staring at him with wide green eyes.

"Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

Sitting up, Arthur scooted away from the American while making sure to keep the blankets over his lower half. "What are you doing?"

Worry settled in the pit of Alfred's stomach and he frowned slightly. "Uh…waking you up?"

"You kissed me."

Alfred paused, blinking. He didn't know what to do. Did Arthur not remember the things they'd said last night? The things they'd done? Pain struck his heart at the thought that the Angel had been too drunk and consequently had forgotten. If Arthur didn't remember kissing the way they had, and touching each other and the sounds they'd made…then…

"Alfred, why did you kiss me?"

Shit. If he had to ask that, then he definitely didn't remember any of last night's activities. Still, Alfred didn't want to accept it so easily.

"Do you, uh, remember anything about last night, Artie?"

The Angel frowned as he thought about it. "Your friends came over. Feliciano cooked dinner, and we played videogames and sang karaoke and danced, I think. And we were drinking."

"Anything else?" the American asked, unable to keep that hopeful tone out of his voice.

Several moments passed as Arthur attempted to remember something more. "No."

_No._

It felt like his heart had shattered in his chest and now the sharp little pieces were digging into his insides. He couldn't breathe. He wanted to cry. He wanted to grab Arthur and kiss him, really kiss him, like he had last night, and not let go until the Angel remembered every single detail of what they'd done. But he couldn't move, and the longer he sat there, frozen, the more concerned Arthur became.

"Alfred, are you all right?" His brow furrowed, the Angel reached out to feel Alfred's forehead to see if he had a fever, then waved his hand in front of the staring blue eyes. "Alfred?"

"I'm…I'm fine, Artie." Finally, he managed to tear his gaze away and slowly turned to get out of bed. "I just have a hangover. I'll be back to normal in a few hours."

"Are you sure?"

He got up and went to the closet and began dressing, not paying even the slightest attention to what he was putting on. "Yeah."

Damn it, _why?_ Why did it have to happen like this? He'd finally found someone he could be happy with, someone he loved and cared for more than he'd ever cared for anyone, something he hadn't thought he would ever be able to do. After Ivan, after the abuse that forced him to literally run away from home, the thought of falling in love with someone else had seemed like an impossible dream. And then he'd found Arthur in that alleyway, and they'd become friends, and the Angel was so sweet and kind and smart and funny and even a little bit sassy that Alfred couldn't help but fall in love with him. Even though he knew the petite man probably wouldn't be around much longer. His wing healed more and more every day—it hardly seemed to bother Arthur at all anymore—and Alfred knew that once he was better, he'd have to leave and go back to heaven. But that hadn't stopped him from loving the Brit.

In spite of everything, he loved him, and last night he'd finally been able to admit it without hesitating, without worrying that the Angel would reject him. And Arthur had said it back. The Angel actually _loved _him, and even though they hadn't had sex, it was still the best night of Alfred's life. Being with Arthur was, for lack of a better word, perfect. It was better than perfect, and he couldn't imagine ever being with anyone else. But the Angel didn't remember any of it, and Alfred had never felt so completely heartbroken. And worse, there wasn't much he could do about it.

"Alfred." A soft hand touched his own and the American looked up to find Arthur watching him with concern. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Unable to form words for fear that his voice would crack, Alfred simply nodded and lowered his gaze once more.

"You've been standing there for five minutes, Alfred. Come on, let's go have breakfast with your friends," the Angel urged gently, tugging on Alfred's hand to lead him out of the bedroom and to the kitchen.

Lovino, Antonio, Ludwig and Feliciano were already sitting around the table, talking quietly as they ate the pancakes someone had decided to make for breakfast. Alfred allowed himself to be guided into one of the two remaining chairs, though he didn't move to claim any of the pancakes for himself, and he didn't touch the mug of coffee that had been prepared for him. In his place next to Alfred and once more dressed in over-sized jeans and his favorite of the American's hoodies, Arthur watched the bespectacled man out of the corner of his eye as he served himself a portion of the food, though he opted not to partake of the coffee.

"Alfred, are you feeling well, _mi amigo?"_ Obviously worried about the blond man's unusually quiet behavior, Antonio put down his fork and leaned forward slightly in an attempt to get a better look at Alfred's face.

"Fine," the blue-eyed man mumbled without looking up, "just not hungry."

"Eh? There's definitely something wrong with him. He's _always_ hungry," Lovino interjected, earning a split-second glare from Antonio.

"Ve…are you sick, Alfred?" Feliciano spoke up for the first time since the American and Angel had joined them. "Did you drink too much last night?"

Seizing the excuse that had been presented to him, Alfred nodded and slowly reached for his coffee. "Yeah. I'll be fine." He took a long drink of the hot liquid to avoid having to answer any more questions and was relieved when his friends accepted that explanation for how quiet he was being. It wasn't like he could outright tell them that he was depressed because the Angel he was in love with didn't remember the almost-sex they'd had the night before whilst his friends were probably having sex in the next room.

Oh, god. The realization just about made him choke on his coffee and he set the mug down as casually as he could before taking a couple of pancakes and forcing himself to eat. As he chewed, he stole glances at the other males at the table.

Even though they were sitting next to each other, Lovino and Antonio weren't touching. For Lovino, that was normal, but Antonio rarely managed to keep his hands off the Italian if they were within arm's reach of each other. The fact that he was holding back his usual affections meant that Lovino was in a particularly sour mood. Having sex in Alfred's living room while drunk the night before was probably the safest assumption as to why.

As for Feliciano and Ludwig, the German's eyes were glued to his plate as if he were too embarrassed to look anyone in the face, something that only happened after he'd done something that he considered foolish and shameful. Like getting drunk and screwing his boyfriend on the couch. Sitting beside Ludwig, Feliciano was smiling and seemed to be his usual cheerful self. However, he kept shifting in his chair as if he was uncomfortable, which probably meant that Ludwig had been rougher than normal and left a bruise or two. No wonder the tall blond looked so embarrassed.

_Oh, that's fucking _gold._ All my friends get their brains fucked out in my living room, less than ten feet away from each other, even, and I'm in the next room with a sexy little Angel and I don't even get laid. And let's add the cherry on top that Arthur doesn't remember any of it, so I can't kiss him or hold his hand or anything. Nothing about this is fair! Nothing!_

Frowning as his irritation at how things were turning out grew, Alfred stabbed his fork into the pancakes with more force than was necessary. This whole thing was pure bull shit. He just wanted to find someone he could actually love and be with, no worrying about being rejected, no having to hide an Angel's wings from his friends or worry that one day that Angel would tell him he had to leave and would never see him again. Still, he'd be willing to put up with hiding the wings if he could just keep Arthur.

It wasn't fair, and he hated that he couldn't do anything about it. Even if he waited for his friends to leave then tried to tell Arthur what they'd done last night, he didn't know if it would help anything. What if Arthur got mad? He could be embarrassed—it wasn't as if the Angel was exactly open with his feelings all the time—and while he was okay with cuddling a bit, and didn't seem to mind kisses on his forehead, what had happened last night was definitely beyond his comfort level. No, telling him probably wasn't the best idea. Maybe, if Al was patient, the green-eyed Angel would remember on his own.

Alfred hated the waiting game, but he was willing to put up with it for Arthur's sake.

X

This was going to kill him.

He was an awful person. He didn't deserve to be an Angel. He could _feel_ how much pain Alfred was in and he could so easily make all that pain go away. Yet he sat there and ate his pancakes as if he hadn't a care in the world. All he wanted to do was grab the American and kiss him and tell him that he remembered everything and he was sorry for acting like he didn't but he didn't know what else to do because he shouldn't have done any of that but that didn't mean he didn't love him.

_And then you do what, exactly, Arthur? Kiss him every day and tell him how much you love him, do what you did last night as many times as you want even though it'll never be enough? What happens when it's time to leave? It'll just hurt more, Arthur. You can't do that to him._

It was breaking his heart in half just to be this near to Alfred and feel the taller man's emotions coming off him in waves. Hurt, definite sorrow and loss and even a little bit of anger. The American was angry that Arthur supposedly didn't remember what had happened last night. That was the worst part, and he knew how much angrier it would make the blue-eyed man if Arthur admitted that he'd only been pretending. What else could he do, though? He had to leave in less than two weeks. It was easier this way.

"So, how long are you staying?" He turned green eyes on the Spaniard sitting on his left, asking just to ask because no one had been talking and if he didn't find something to focus on besides Alfred's emotions then he would go insane.

"Just long enough to clean up from breakfast." Antonio offered a friendly smile before taking another bite of his pancakes. "We don't usually drink as much as we did last night, so we all need to go home and recover a little before work tonight."

Arthur returned the smile as best he could even though he couldn't help but think that he was the reason the others had been drinking so much. At least he wasn't going to have to be alone with Alfred for as long if the others planned on staying for a little while. Thinking that way sent a tendril of guilt wrapping around his brain. He shouldn't be reluctant to spend time with the American just because he couldn't admit to remembering.

"It's kind of you to help." Standing, he took his now-empty plate to the sink and rinsed the syrup and crumbs off it before placing it in the automatic dishwasher, all too aware that his back was now to Alfred's friends and that there was a chance they'd seen his wings the night before.

_You really wanted to cause yourself trouble, didn't you._

After drying his hands on a towel, he moved over to the cupboard by the fridge and retrieved one of the boxes of tea that Alfred had bought for him before finding a clean mug and filling it with hot water to steep the teabag in. Rather than return to the table and put himself back in range to sense Alfred, he leaned back against the counter and quietly watched the other men as they finished eating, sipping his tea now and then. By the time his pancakes were gone, Alfred seemed to have cheered up considerably and was even smiling a little, though Arthur suspected that the American was faking it to avoid any more questions from his friends.

Wordlessly, Antonio and Ludwig gathered the dirty plates, took them to the sink and began to rinse them for the dishwasher as Lovino and Feliciano put away the leftovers. It was clearly the same pattern they followed every time they had breakfast together, and as soon as the plates, silverware and cups had been taken care of, the two Italians brought the larger dishes over to the sink. Antonio had already prepared hot, soapy water and began to wash the dishes, handing each one to Ludwig as they were rinsed off, then the German dried them with a towel he'd found in the drawer before putting each item away in its proper place. Lovino and Feliciano worked together to wipe off the counters and table before retreating to the living room to pick up the mess from last night as their companions finished in the kitchen.

Still sipping his tea, Arthur watched them work with a small amount of admiration. In no time at all, it seemed, the apartment was back in order and the four men were getting ready to leave.

"I'll see you guys at work tonight," Alfred said almost cheerfully as he held the door open for his friends.

They moved past him one by one, waving and calling their own good-byes before the wind could carry their voices off. It was snowing again and didn't look like it was going to stop anytime soon—the wind was so strong that Arthur had to help Alfred push the door shut again once Antonio, Lovino, Feliciano and Ludwig had made their way outside. Immediately, Alfred flopped down onto the couch and picked up the remote to the TV.

"I'm going to shower," Arthur announced quietly, and waited for the bespectacled man to nod before went into the bathroom and locked the door behind himself. Slowly, he stripped, dropping his discarded clothes into a pile, then turned on the shower. He set the water to an even hotter temperature than normal, shivering a little as it heated up and steam filled the room. It reminded him of the time he'd written on the mirror.

An urge gripped him and he couldn't help it. Silently, the Angel went to the counter and reached up, his finger tracing out just two words.

_I'm sorry._

The condensation was cool under his fingertip, and as he stepped back to look at what he'd written, he felt tears beginning to form. Before any of them could fall, he stepped into the shower and shut the door, letting the uncomfortably hot water pour down on him. It burned his skin, turning the pale flesh an agitated red color, but he didn't care. He liked that it hurt a little.

"Alfred," he whispered, letting his eyes fall shut as he tilted his head back so the water soaked his hair and dripped down his face, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Cold on his cheeks alerted him to the fact that he'd started to cry, but he didn't care about that, either. This was something that he wanted to hurt over, wanted to cry over.

"I'm not brave enough, Alfred. I want to be with you, to stay here and live with you and be your lover, but I can't." Each word was quieter than the last as he struggled not to start sobbing. "If we make love, and you're not the one, I…I'd lose my wings…and I'd lose y-you…and I c-can't do that."

The tears fell faster now, mixing with the heat of the shower water that he was already starting to go numb to. He could feel his wings quivering and wrapped them around himself in seek of comfort, nuzzling against the soft feathers as a shuddering sigh escaped him.

It was terrifying, this business of being in love. Even though he knew Alfred returned his feelings, it was terrifying. Because Angels weren't supposed to fall in love with humans. Oh, it happened, but most Angels ignored the feelings until the human they'd fallen for died, and then they moved on. But the Angels that gave in, the ones that formed relationships with their humans and eventually had sex with them…they weren't Angels anymore after that, but they didn't get to stay with their humans, either. As much as Arthur loved Alfred and wanted to be with him, he was too afraid of what might happen to him afterwards.

"Coward," he accused himself, reaching out to brace a hand against the cold shower wall. "Tell him. Tell him why you can't love him. Just do it. He'll understand." But telling a human about Angels, divulging secrets about them, might cost him his wings, as well. Breaking the rules had consequences.

At this point, Arthur wasn't sure if those consequences would be worse than the pain he felt at lying to Alfred. The tall human had done so much for him and now Arthur was lying to him, hurting him. He'd never felt so guilty, never hated himself as much as he did then. That was why he'd made the water so hot, why he couldn't help the tears that overflowed onto his cheeks. Because he, an Angel, had fallen in love with a human and had gotten so very close to giving in that he almost expected to lose his wings even though they hadn't had sex.

Without bothering to catch himself or be careful, Arthur dropped to his knees and buried his face in his hands as he began to sob and rock back and forth. He couldn't do this. Not for two weeks. He couldn't lie to Alfred for all that time just to leave him. But he didn't have a choice, and he hated that the most.

His wings hanging limp as the water poured down on him, Arthur struggled to choke out the words he so desperately needed to say, even if the man they were meant for couldn't hear them. "I-I'm sorry, Alf-fred. I'm s-sorry. I'm s-s-sorry for e-everything."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Well. Yeah. So, you're all allowed to be mad at me for having Arthur pretend that he forgot, but if you just have a little patience (or a lot of patience because I mean really it's _me)_ then I promise you it will explain why he lies about it later in the story. Poor, poor Alfred. Give him hugs, guys. He needs them and he's going to need a lot of them before this story is over. There's still a ton of stuff that has to happen. Oh, before I go, I'd like to say how sorry I am for making you wait an extra couple of days for this chapter. I was sick for the last few days and that means I was absolutely useless when it came to writing. I give you my word that next week's chapter will be on time. Thanks for reading!


	22. Chapter 22

There was obviously something wrong with him. He knew he wasn't doing a very good job of hiding it but he couldn't bring himself to do a better job. So far, he'd been putting in the bare minimum effort of forcing a smile whenever one of his coworkers talked to him. But for the most part, he was sitting at the table, not talking, not looking at or interacting with the others. Just sitting there. It was too cold and windy outside for them to go on their patrols, so they were confined to the security office and walking the hallways. Alfred almost wanted to go outside to patrol. It would have been a good way to take his mind off how pointless his life suddenly seemed.

But Ludwig and Antonio would stop him if he tried to go outside because they'd been instructed to remain indoors for the night. He could lose his job if he went outside, and it probably wasn't worth risking frostbite on his face just to work out some anger by wading through snowdrifts. So he remained where he was, arms folded on top of the table with his chin resting on them as he stared at the wall directly across the room. Antonio was in his usual place watching the monitors. Lovino had been talked into watching a movie on Feliciano's laptop with his brother and Ludwig. Which meant that Alfred was free to mope for as long as he wanted.

_God, this sucks. I get to be at work with my friends who are all dating each other, then I get to go home and spend all day around Arthur. What am I supposed to say to him? He's going to know I'm upset, and things could get really awkward if I tell him why. But if I lie to him, he'll get mad, anyway._

What he wanted to do was go home, shower, put on his pajamas then climb in bed and cuddle the Angel like he would never have to let go. Just hold him. Maybe kiss his forehead. Innocent and sweet and loving because he couldn't show it while the petite man was awake, so he had to get it out of his system while Arthur was sleeping. It sounded weird and a little bit creepy, but he didn't care. It was the best he had.

Unfortunately, the best he had wasn't nearly good enough.

"Alfred, come watch the movie with us," Feliciano called to him with a friendly smile because he didn't like how sad the American looked. Alfred barely glanced at the Italian.

"No, thanks, Feli. I'm not in the mood."

"You've been moping all night, _barstardo,_" Lovino accused in his usual sour tones. "What's wrong, didn't get into Arthur's pants last night?"

Before Alfred could respond, Antonio spun around in his chair and gave the Italian a rare scowl. "Lovino!"

"What?" He huffed and crossed his arms over his narrow chest. "I saw them this morning. They were lying together and they were both naked. The only reason for Alfred to be so _patetico_ is that he didn't get laid like he wanted."

The Spaniard's scowl deepened and he shifted as if he wanted to get up. "That doesn't mean you should say it, Lovino. _Es muy grosero._"

Lovino rolled his eyes. "I don't speak Spanish, idiot."

"Guys," Alfred cut in when Antonio opened his mouth to respond, "it's fine. I'm used to Lovino being like this. I'm just…not in a good mood."

"So it iz not about Arzhur?" Ludwig had finally decided to join the conversation. "You seemed very attached to him last night, and I remember zhat he kissed you, but you didn't touch or talk at all during breakfast. Did somezhing happen?"

Memories of everything that had happened between him and Arthur flashed through Alfred's mind. The Angel's taste, how it felt to have Arthur on top of him as they kissed and moved against each other, stroking his wing just to make the petite man that much more desperate, and the sweet little sounds he'd made while Alfred fucked him with his fingers and sucked him off. Such perfect memories that were almost painfully clear.

"No, nothing happened." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue and he had to resist the urge to twist his lips against it. He really hated lying, especially to his friends. But he couldn't exactly tell them the truth.

"Does Arthur have an angel fetish?"

Panic flooded Alfred at the question and he whipped around in his chair to stare hard at Lovino. "What makes you ask that?"

"Cause when I woke you up this morning, I could've sworn I saw wings on him. Did he wear a costume or something?"

"Uh…yeah…he does that when he's drunk…kind of a nut." He forced a half smile and a little bit of a chuckle. To his relief, Lovino rolled his eyes and muttered something about "crazy bastards," which meant he'd believed Alfred's lie. Well, at least he was managing to keep the Angel's secret.

"Ludwig, can we watch the movie now?" Feliciano asked, turning his eternally sleepy brown eyes on the German as a way to turn the conversation away from Alfred's sex life.

"_Ja,_ we can."

The Italian smiled and snuggled into the larger man's side as his brother glared at them and Ludwig hit the play button so that their movie began again. Antonio turned back to the monitors and continued his silent watch now that he knew Lovino would behave himself, at least for the time being.

Free to return to his moping, Alfred pillowed his head on his arms and sighed deeply, his eyes falling halfway shut. He wouldn't be able to keep up this "just in a bad mood" lie for long because he was rarely ever in a bad mood, and never for more than a day at a time. If he wanted to keep his friends from getting worried about him, then he needed to find a way to cheer himself up, and fast. Maybe he'd go for a walk with Arthur tomorrow, if the weather wasn't too bad. Or they'd watch movies and drink hot cocoa. That would be nice. It was probably a good idea to check the Angel's wing to make sure it had set right, too. If anything, he'd just have to keep himself too busy to dwell on his situation.

It wasn't the best solution, but he was willing to give it a try.

X

Moving slowly, Arthur reached back and began to remove the bandages that had been wrapped around his wing for the last few weeks. It was uncomfortable because the tape pulled at his feathers, but none of them came out, so it wasn't too terrible. Once he'd gotten the bandages off, he slowly extended the wing and stretched it, watching the way it moved in the bathroom mirror. Everything looked like it was healing properly, and the limb was stiff and a little sore but not overly so. He'd probably be able to fly in just a few days.

As happy as he was that he'd be able to fly again—because really, an Angel that couldn't fly wasn't much of an Angel at all—he also dreaded it. He didn't want to have to leave. Yes, he missed his house and friends and his work, but he knew he wouldn't be as happy as he'd been before once he'd said goodbye to Alfred. Every fiber in his body knew that he was going to miss the American so much that it would be borderline pathetic, and yet he knew he couldn't put off returning to heaven. He'd been gone for too long already and needed to return so he could go back to his old life and job. It was just painful to imagine leaving.

Arthur took a deep breath and forced himself to focus. Now was not the time to get all mopey and depressed about something that hadn't even happened yet. Right now, he needed to test the strength in his healing wing. So, he took another breath before giving his wings a few powerful strokes. His feet left the bathroom floor and he hovered just below the ceiling, flapping slowly to maintain his height. It wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, but it wasn't painful like the last time he'd tried to fly. His guess about being recovered enough to fly home within a few days had been correct.

The knowledge didn't excite him as much as it should have. Arthur loved flying and had ever since the first moment when he got his wings. Not being able to fly was comparable to torture. Yes, he was looking forward to being able to fly around like he was accustomed to, and not having to worry about aggravating the wound that was almost gone. And the burn from the lightning bolt had finished healing several days ago and was now nothing more than a silvery scar stretching over his back. He'd be good as new in no time.

_I don't want to go back._

It was stupid, he knew. Of course he knew it was stupid. How could he not? He was an Angel, for heaven's sake, and he needed to recover so he could go home and go back to protecting humans like he was meant to do. Hanging around on earth any longer than was absolutely necessary was a foolish and risky thing to do. He could be seen, could be found out. Earth was a dangerous place for Angels, especially injured ones. And yet, he still didn't want to leave, even for his own safety. Because he didn't feel like he was in danger, not while he had Alfred. The human would do everything in his power to protect Arthur and the golden blond knew it. As long as he had Alfred, he was safe.

"You have to leave when it's healed," he told his reflection, giving himself a serious look. "I know it won't be easy, but that's not the point. You belong in heaven, Arthur, and he belongs here. Unless you're going to risk your wings, then the best thing to do is heal up and shove off before you do something you might regret. You know that if he kisses you again, you'll kiss back. Maybe you won't be able to stop. Maybe you'll have sex with him. And then what? Lose your wings? Lose Alfred, forever? No. Better to leave while you can and watch him from heaven, make sure he takes care of himself and lives a happy life, like you did for Francis."

That was the smart decision. Arthur's heart didn't like that option. It had hurt like hell to watch Francis grow old and feeble and eventually die while Arthur stayed young and unchanging beside him. He couldn't do that again. He _wouldn't._ But what else could he do?

Ugh, he was such a fool. How could he have let this happen? Angels should know better than to let their emotions get away from them, especially after hundreds of years of being exposed to countless humans while they were at their most vulnerable, feeling all those emotions and helping the humans as best they could. He should have known better than to become attached to Alfred. But when he thought about it, he couldn't quite remember when it had happened. He just…was. Because Alfred was funny and handsome and loving and sweet and…perfect.

"He's perfect, and I feel in love with him."

It felt good to say it out loud, that he loved the American. Even though he was pretending to have forgotten about what they'd done, even though he was going to have to leave soon. He liked saying it. It made him feel like he wouldn't truly lose Alfred even after he left or after the human died. As long as he had that, the knowledge that he loved him and knowing that Alfred loved him back, he would be okay. He had to be okay.

X

Finally. Nothing had ever looked so welcoming as the front door to his apartment.

"Thanks for the ride." He tried to sound grateful and cheerful, really he did, but it didn't come out that way. Luckily, he knew Ludwig and Feliciano would just assume he was tired and still not in the best of moods, so he left it at that and ran from the car to his front door, keys at the ready.

Key in the lock and twist, open the door and step inside, slam the door shut to keep the cold from getting in. Lock the door, stamp the snow off his boots. Use teeth to pull off gloves, untie boots and leave by door. Belt in the closet. Tiptoe into the bedroom so as not to wake Arthur, grab pajamas, and head for the shower.

Alfred let out a sigh of relief once the bathroom door was locked behind him. He was glad to be home—now he could relax without worrying about someone asking him what was wrong. Now all he had to do was shower then go to bed, and Arthur was already asleep so he'd be able to cuddle the Angel like he wanted.

Something that was almost a smile crept onto the American's face as he turned on the shower then stripped out of his uniform while the water heated up. His shower was quick because he was eager to get to bed, and hot to eradicate the cold that had managed to get to him during his short dash up the sidewalk. By the time he stepped back out of the shower and reached for his towel to dry off, he felt much better. It was when he was rubbing the cloth over his hair that something caught his eye.

There were marks on the mirror.

Without his glasses, he couldn't make out what it was, so he finished drying off and dressed in his pajamas before putting his glasses on. As soon as he realized what was written on the mirror, Alfred's eyes widened. Someone had written "I'm sorry" on the fogged over surface, and that someone had to be Arthur because the message hadn't been there the last time Al had showered, and he was pretty sure none of his coworkers would have written on his mirror. But what was Arthur sorry for? Curiosity urged him to wake the Angel and ask him, but that certainly wouldn't go over very well—it was barely six in the morning, after all, and no one wanted to be woken up at six a.m. without good reason.

Accepting the fact that he would just have to wait a little while to find out why the Angel had written on the mirror, Alfred gathered his clothes off the floor, left the bathroom—he threw his dirty clothes towards the washing machine—and crept into the bathroom. The sight of Arthur lying asleep immediately made him feel calmer and he couldn't help but smile a little. He really was too precious.

His smile was still in place as he slipped under the blankets and oh so carefully moved to lie beside the slumbering Angel so that he wouldn't wake him on accident. Gently, he wrapped an arm around the slim waist and drew Arthur closer, nuzzling into the soft skin of his neck and breathing deeply to capture the Brit's subtle scent. Like rain and tea, and there was a hint of his own body wash that Alfred found entirely pleasing. He liked that Arthur smelled as if they'd been living together for longer than they actually had. It made him feel like he had some sort of claim on the Angel, even if it wasn't much of a claim.

Regardless, he enjoyed the way the smaller man smelled and how smooth the pale skin was. The blankets were warm, he was clean and comfortable and he had Arthur safely wrapped in his arms. Within moments, he'd relaxed completely and couldn't have gotten closer to the Angel if his life had depended on it.

Just as he'd wanted to do, Alfred placed a soft kiss on the golden blond's forehead.

"I love you, Arthur. I don't care that you don't remember, or that you're an Angel, or that you have to leave soon. I love you." The words were whispered so softly that Alfred could barely hear himself speak, and yet he felt immensely better after saying it.

This, this closeness and complete surrender to his emotions, was exactly what he'd needed in order to feel better. He didn't feel quite so lost now, no longer felt as though he'd been left to stumble blindly after the quickly vanishing opportunity he'd somehow missed with the Angel curled into his chest. Lying there, he knew that Arthur loved him, really loved him, even if he didn't remember saying it and wasn't comfortable with openly showing it. It was harder to remember while he was away from the smaller man, but so easy to accept and immerse himself in while so close to him.

But he still wished he could open his eyes that afternoon to find Arthur waiting for him to wake up, with those amazing green eyes looking straight into his own. And he wanted to be able to smile, to touch the Angel's cheek and pull him into a soft kiss because he'd missed him even while asleep, and to have Arthur kiss him back because he'd missed Alfred, too. He wanted to have lunch together and laugh and be completely at ease without having to hide or pretend anymore. God, he was tired of pretending. So damn tired. If he could have anything, anything at all, it would be to not have to act like he wasn't in love with Arthur for even another second. Pretending was killing him, slowly and excruciatingly.

Resigned and content for now, Alfred sighed quietly and let his eyes fall closed. If this was all the closeness he was going to get, then he was going to make the most of it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Kind of a short chapter but, well, sometimes the chapters don't need to be so long to say everything that needs to be said. In case anyone was wondering why there was no update last week, I was out of town and had no internet AT ALL. Which sucked, to be completely honest. So here's this week's chapter (even though it's a few hours late because today was very busy). I hope you all enjoyed it and aren't too frustrated with the turn things have taken. See you next Tuesday!


	23. Chapter 23

"Alfred!"

The whisper was still loud enough to wake him and he rolled over with a groan, shoving his head under the pillow. Insistent hands began pulling at the blankets.

"Come on, you wanker! I made lunch, the least you can do is get out of bed!"

Holding tightly onto the blankets and with his head still hidden under the pillow, Alfred seriously considered grabbing the Angel around the waist and dragging him under the blankets to forcibly cuddle him and go back to sleep. It wouldn't be that difficult—Arthur was much smaller than him, after all—but he felt as if that might get him into trouble. Arthur obviously wanted something and it definitely wasn't to cuddle or he'd have just crawled into bed. Still, it was a tempting option; he decided to save it for a later morning.

"Time izzit?" he asked in order to stall the green-eyed blond, and Arthur stopped trying to rip the blankets away.

"It's after one. I made lunch, and the storm is finally over."

That caught Alfred's interest enough for him to sit up and look at the window. Sure enough, pale blue sky showed between the thin curtains. "We should go for a walk while it's nice out."

"That's why I've been trying to get you up!" Arthur sounded more exasperated than Alfred had ever heard him and he couldn't help but throw a grin at the petite man.

"You're in a big hurry for an Angel wearing nothing but my boxers," he commented, and a blush darkened Arthur's pale cheeks.

"Sh-shut up, git! I just didn't want to wake you too early by getting clothes!"

"Really." His grin morphed into a smirk. "Then why didn't you get dressed before trying to steal my blankets, if you think dressing would have woken me up?"

Arthur's mouth opened and closed several times but no sound came out. What was he supposed to say? He couldn't very well admit that he preferred to be dressed like this, that he thought jeans were strange and uncomfortable and he only liked to wear hoodies, not shirts. If he said that, then Alfred would tease him about strutting around while basically naked and he didn't think he could handle that kind of embarrassment. He still had his pride, after all. And he didn't strut, anyway!

"Because I knew your lazy arse would take forever to get out of bed," he snapped eventually, then turned with a huff and went to the closet to find something to wear. Behind him, Alfred got out of bed and snuck up behind the Angel before wrapping his arms around Arthur's slim waist.

"Why're you in such a bad mood?" he asked softly as the Angel first stiffened then relaxed in his hold.

The comforting warmth helped Arthur to let go of some of his embarrassed frustration and he sighed. "You're teasing me."

"I've done that before. What's the _real_ reason?"

_I love you but I'm lying to you about it and I don't want to leave but I have to and when you tease me about wearing your boxers it makes me want to tease you about wanting to take them off me but I can't say that because I'm an Angel and you're a bloody human, you wanker._

"Just impatient," the Angel lied quietly; he leaned back against Al just a little, trying to memorize the feel of the taller man's arms and chest. "Sorry for snapping at you."

Alfred smiled. "It's all right."

Then the warmth was gone and Arthur went back to looking through the closet for something to wear for their walk. It was bound to be freezing outside, but Angels weren't as susceptible to cold as humans were, so he would be fine in jeans and a hoody over a long-sleeved shirt. Alfred was probably going to need that plus a heavy coat, hat and gloves, maybe even a scarf, but Arthur knew he wouldn't need all that and so dressed as was necessary before going out into the kitchen.

Green eyes landed on Alfred, still in his pajamas, sitting at the table as he sipped his orange juice. It was a sight that Arthur wouldn't mind seeing every day and he could imagine himself moving to either hug the bespectacled man around the shoulders or even sit on his lap to eat breakfast off the same plate. Normally, he had too much dignity for something like that, but he could imagine himself being like that with Alfred. Part of him wanted to go do it now while he had the chance, but he knew that it would only make leaving that much harder. Leaving was already going to be one of the hardest things he would ever have to do—there was no point in making it worse.

Silent, he took his place on the other side of the table and began to eat, occasionally glancing at the man across from him. He wanted to voice his fears about leaving, wanted to admit that he wanted to stay. God, he wanted to tell the blue-eyed man everything and then work with him to find a way to get around this so that he could stay here with him. But he simply ate his breakfast and held back all those things he wanted to say.

Less than half an hour later, the two blonds had finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen. Arthur was waiting—impatiently—by the front door as Alfred got dressed, though he wasn't as irritated as he normally would have been. The taller man hadn't bothered to shut the bedroom door and Arthur quickly learned that if he stood just so, he could see into the room. His enhanced eyesight let him observe every little move that Alfred made. He could see the tanned American's muscles flex and bunch beneath his skin as he stretched; the Angel swallowed rather thickly when flannel pajama pants hit the floor and he let his gaze pass over Alfred's nearly-naked body as if his eyes alone could devour the blue-eyed man. And then the bastard stretched again, bending over to touch his toes so that Arthur had a perfect view of his backside—he bit his lip to keep from saying something he shouldn't. The doors to the closet were pushed open and Alfred began rifling through his shirts in search of something to wear and it actually bothered the Angel to think that, in a few minutes, he wouldn't be able to see that body anymore due to bulky winter clothes.

Why did humans have to be so vulnerable to the elements? It really wasn't fair.

Teeth still digging into his lip, Arthur silently watched the blond American pull a snug-fitting long-sleeved shirt on over his head. At least it was tight enough to show off how fit Alfred was, but the Angel still wasn't content with it.

_Stop putting clothes on._

The sight of Alfred had completely driven thoughts of going for a walk from the winged man's mind—now he'd chosen a pair of jeans to wear.

_Stop that. You wanker, stop!_

This was much more frustrating than it should have been. As an Angel, he was supposed to have perfect self control, yet he was barely managing to contain himself. All he wanted at that moment was to silently enter the bedroom so that Alfred wouldn't notice him until he was right in front of the bespectacled man. He wanted to look up into those amazing blue eyes and smile just a little, a secretive kind of smile that would make the taller man wonder what he was planning, because what he was planning was sinful and delicious and would take up their entire day.

First, the smile. Alfred's confused expression would be adorable, and Arthur could so easily imagine going up on his tiptoes to kiss the American. He'd be surprised at first, of course, especially since he thought Arthur had forgotten about the other night, but that wouldn't last very long before he'd start kissing back. His arms would wrap around the Angel's waist and pull him closer against that strong chest. Arthur thought he'd slip his hands under the shirt the American had chosen, letting his fingers trace over the muscles while simultaneously lifting the cloth until they had to stop kissing so he could pull it off over Alfred's head. Kiss his chest and taste the flawless tanned skin to distract him from the Angel's hands getting rid of those blasted jeans so that the American was back to his previous almost naked state.

"Your turn," he'd whisper, smiling again, and Alfred would lift him up and place him on the bed as gently as he'd done the night before last. And they'd kiss again but harder this time while skilled hands removed every bit of clothing from Arthur's body.

Arthur let the memory of how those calloused palms had felt against his own soft skin overwhelm him and couldn't help but shiver, a small smile curving his lips. That was a sensation he was never going to forget.

"Artie?"

The Angel blinked as his fantasy faded from before his eyes and found that a fully dressed Alfred stood directly before him—it took all he had not to blush at being caught daydreaming. "Yes?"

Alfred smiled even though he looked slightly concerned. "You ready to go?"

Go? Oh, right, they were supposed to be going on a walk. That's why Alfred had chosen to wear all those blasted layers. Arthur did his best to return the taller man's smile.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

The concerned look faded and Alfred's smile became more genuine. "Then let'8\s go." He put an arm around the Angel's shoulders and led him out of the apartment, locking the door behind them. They set off in the direction of the park, breathing in the cold winter air. It stung their throats and noses and made their lungs ache, but they both enjoyed it. It was just nice to be able to see the sun.

Luckily, since it was early afternoon, the sidewalks and roads had been cleared of snow, so they made good time getting to the park.

"It's beautiful," the Angel whispered as they stepped through the cast-iron gate that separated the park from the surrounding city. Unlike the roads they'd walked, this snow wasn't dirty from cars and pollution. These sidewalks had been cleared with shovels, not snowplows, and thanks to last night's storm, there were no footprints marring the pure white blanket that covered what had been green hills. The park was pristine, every tree and bush covered in sparkling icicles, the snow glittering in the weak winter sun. It really was quite beautiful.

And Alfred had eyes only for the man beside him. "Yeah…beautiful…"

It shouldn't have been possible, but Arthur's eyes looked even greener than before, and the light reflecting off the snow made his pale skin glow, though that was partially because the Angel glowed, anyway. Highlights in his blond hair were picked out by the sun and shone like newly polished gold—everything about him was perfect. Alfred could only imagine how completely surreal the Angel would look if he was in his prime, like he was before the lightning strike that brought him down to the streets of New York. Arthur in his spotless toga, wings spread wide against the blue sky and even whiter than the snow, wand in hand and glowing halo over his head…that would be a sight to see.

Those green eyes turned to look at him and Arthur smiled shyly. "Shall we?"

Alfred grinned his usual grin and took Arthur's hand into his own despite the possible consequences; his heart fluttered when he felt the strength of the Angel's grip on his hand. "Yeah, let's go."

Still holding hands, the two blonds started off down the path. They walked the entire network of sidewalks that wound through the hills and trees, stopping every now and then to inspect a strangely shaped icicle or examine how the ice had formed a shell around a tree. It was a lot of fun despite the cold, even though they both grew quiet whenever they encountered a couple or group of strangers who had also decided to walk the park that afternoon.

"I wish this day could last forever," Arthur sighed as the gate they'd originally come through appeared ahead of them. "It's too peaceful to end."

The taller blond squeezed the hand that he was still holding as he smiled. "We don't have to go back yet."

Arthur looked up at him, his expression excited and nervous at the same time. "Then…can we…"

"Can we, what?"

"Make snow angels and build a snowman and an igloo and have a snowball fight and get hot cocoa to warm up afterwards?" the Angel blurted out. His face reddened once he finished speaking but he didn't look away, his thick eyebrows furrowed with determination.

Damn, this guy was freaking adorable for someone who was hundreds of years old.

It was impossible not to share the petite man's enthusiasm. "Sure we can!" Letting go of Arthur's hand, Alfred bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, which he patted into the shape of a ball. "Which one do you want to do first?"

His nervousness now completely gone, the Angel turned and began running down the path, faster than any human could ever run. "Snow angels at the top of our hill!"

Alfred grinned. He drew his arm back, aimed, then whipped his arm forward to release the snowball he'd made at the perfect moment. It flew through the brisk winter air before bursting against Arthur's retreating back, and the Angel whipped yelped in surprise before whirling around to glare at his attacker.

"You git! Only a coward attacks while a man's back is turned!" But Alfred was nowhere to be seen; he'd slipped into the trees before the snowball had even reached Arthur and had disappeared. Arthur's eyes narrowed as he scanned the treeline for hints of movement—the first snowball had taken him by surprise, but he wouldn't be caught off-guard again.

Several minutes of still silence passed before Arthur grinned.

"If you don't come out, you wanker," he called, knowing his voice would carry, "then you'll come home to an empty bed when you get off work in the morning!"

Within moments, Alfred's form separated from those of the trees and he hesitantly approached the Angel, a hurt, worried look on his face. "You mean…you'd leave? For good?"

Shit. He should have phrased that differently because now that Alfred was only a few feet away he was being rammed by waves of the human's emotions. Worry. Pain. Loss. Even a little bit of betrayal. But he didn't show that. He just rolled his eyes.

"No, git. I meant that I'd sleep on the couch from now on and you wouldn't have anyone to snuggle up to at 5am when you get off work."

That seemed to ease some of the American's worry because his expression went blank.

"Oh."

A sigh escaped Arthur and he held out his hand to the other man. "Come on, let's go make snow angels, love."

Alfred smiled a little as he accepted the offered hand. "'Kay." He allowed himself to be led off down the path, his thoughts still in turmoil. It was embarrassing how easily Arthur had managed to subdue him, and that he'd misunderstood the Angel's threat. Admittedly, losing his cuddle privileges with the petite blond would be bad enough, but when he'd thought Arthur was going to leave, just like that, he'd felt like he was about to burst into tears. He couldn't put into words how relieved he was that Arthur hadn't meant that he was leaving. And now the Angel was pulling him along towards "their hill," and Alfred didn't ever want to let go of the delicate-looking hand he was holding onto. Never.

They abandoned the path at the bottom of the hill, trudging up through the otherwise flawless snow until they reached the frozen over bench. The proud tree had shed its leaves for winter and stood bare against the sky, majestic even now, with huge icicles hanging from its snow-coated limbs.

With an excited smile, Arthur let go of the American's hand and stepped off to the side before dropping down in the snow and lying on his back. He started moving his arms and legs to create the shape of a snow angel, with Alfred found both amusing and ironic.

"You know, I never thought I'd have the chance to see an actual Angel be so excited about making a snow angel," he commented as Arthur jumped up and began examining his work.

"Humans aren't supposed to have the chance to see actual Angel's at all, you lucky wanker."

Seizing his chance, Alfred quickly grabbed the Angel around his waist and lifted him up, spinning in circles as he held Arthur close. The smaller male shouted his protests but was ignored as Alfred continued to spin for a few more moments. Then, slowly, he stopped and set the Angel on his feet but didn't let go.

"I am lucky," he whispered into Arthur's ear, voice husky because he was remembering nibbling and licking that perfect ear. "I'm the luckiest guy in the world, cause I have you."

Arthur felt like his knees were about to buckle, like he was about to melt into a little Angel puddle at Alfred's booted feet. He was trembling, he knew, even if Alfred couldn't feel it through all his layers of clothing.

_Bloody hell…do it…like you did last time…please…_

Hot breath on his cheek and neck and ear tortured him with memories of the last time Alfred had whispered to him in that tone. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was using every last ounce of self control to keep from begging the American to kiss him and touch him and—

_Just take me, you git. I don't care about the rules. I don't care if I lose my wings. I want you this very instant, on the bench or against the tree or hell even in the snow. I can't even believe how fucking much I love you. Please. Love me. I can't make the first move, Alfred. You have to do it. Come on, I can feel how much you want it, you useless bloody human, I can feel how conflicted you are. For the love of God, make me yours._

The pleas raged in his brain, fighting to break past his lips and escape into the cold air. He knew that Alfred would do it, if he asked, and that made it so much harder to resist.

"A-Alfred…" It came out as less than a whisper and he just knew the American had smiled.

"Yeah?"

_Take me._ "You still have to make a snow angel."

Disappointment joined the other emotions he could feel coming off the human, a feeling that he understood completely. He was disappointed, too.

Alfred didn't respond to that. Rather, he let go of the Angel's waist and silently moved to lie in the snow next to the shape Arthur had left. His arms and legs shifted the snow out of the way with ease and within moments, a snow angel identical to but larger than Arthur's had formed. When he stood again, Arthur moved behind him and brushed the snow off his back, his hand getting close to but not touching the larger male's backside even though it was tempting.

"Thanks."

The Angel did his best to smile and lighten the mood again, quickly grabbing onto Alfred's hand. "You're welcome. Can we build a snowman, next?"

A smile appeared on the American's face. "Yep. We should do it at the bottom of the hill, though, where it's flatter. That way he'll stay standing for longer."

"Okay." In an attempt to further cheer up his friend and almost-lover, Arthur linked his arm through the taller man's without letting go of his hand, leaning on him slightly as they made their way back down the hill. He could tell it worked; Alfred's disappointment and worry began to fade away and were replaced by a sense of contentment. Well, at least he could do something for the American.

They built their snowman at the base of the hill, in a nice flat spot where people would be able to see it from the path. Since this was something that Arthur had never done before, he let Alfred take charge and simply did as he was told. It was a shame they hadn't been better prepared for this, because then they could have brought a carrot for his nose just like snowmen always seemed to have in the pictures Arthur had seen over the years. The classic snowman was something he'd always wanted to make, but this was good enough. A snowman with Alfred was better than a classic snowman by himself.

"I think he looks good."

Hands in the pocket of his hoody, Arthur looked over their snowman and nodded in approval. He was well-shaped and would definitely hold together for a few days if nothing came along to deliberately destroy it. "He'll do." An arm wound around his waist and he couldn't help but smile. "Yes?"

"Igloo?"

Arthur took a moment to survey the park around them. "No…I have a better idea."

Before Alfred could so much as open his mouth to ask what that idea was, the Angel he'd been holding darted away across the open space between where they'd been standing and the trees. Confused, he watched the petite blond stop at the treeline, crouch down for a moment then stand again with something in his hands. By the time he figured out what was going on, Arthur had already thrown the snow ball and it was too late for the American to duck. The snowball slammed into his chest, knocking him back a step as he gasped in shock and a small amount of pain.

Holy fuck, the Angel could throw!

"Damn," he muttered, rubbing at the spot where the snowball had hit—there was probably going to be a bruise. "I'm gonna get you for that!"

"That was just payback, Alfred," the Angel called, a playful smirk in place. "The real snowball fight hasn't started yet."

Oh, really.

Grinning, the blue-eyed blond scooped up his own handful of snow and began patting it into a proper snowball. "You better start running, Halo-boy!"

Arthur stuck his tongue out at him like a child and Alfred couldn't help but laugh. Then the Angel was gone, running through the trees as Alfred gave chase. It wasn't a fair competition, considering Arthur had superhuman strength and speed, but he toned it down to at least give Alfred a chance at catching up. When he heard the taller blond getting close, he made a sharp right turn and ducked behind a bush, quickly making two snowballs. His breath came in light pants and he was smiling—he'd wanted to do this for a long, long time.

"Oh, Artie!"

His name was called in a sing-song voice and he chuckled softly. He could see Alfred following his footprints through the snow and prepared his snowball. Only a moment later, the American stepped around the bush and Arthur leaped back, throwing one of the snowballs as he did so that it hit Alfred's shoulder. Less than a second later, a snowball struck his own hip and he frowned. How had he not seen the snowball in Alfred's hand?

"And that makes us even," Alfred declared, grinning as he brushed snow off his coat. "What score are we going to?"

"Until you surrender."

The American laughed. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Artie, but heroes never surrender."

"Then this is going to be a very long snowball fight."

The two males stared at each other for several moments, trying to intimidate one another without success. Then suddenly, Arthur's forehead smoothed and he smiled gently.

"Alfred." He practically crooned the name, one hand held slightly behind his back to conceal his remaining snowball.

Instantly, the taller man's guard dropped. "Yeah?"

Arthur let a seductive purr enter his voice. "I know you're a hero, and all…" he trailed a single finger down the front of Alfred's coat, making the bespectacled man swallow thickly, "but we both know that Angels are heroes, too." They were so close their noses were almost touching.

"Yeah," the taller man breathed, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"And, since we're both heroes," slim fingers fiddled with the zipper on Alfred's coat, " then, maybe, we should…"

"Should?"

Green eyes peered up at him from beneath blond bangs. "You know…" He began pulling the zipper down, ever so slowly, loving the way Alfred began to tremble and that those blue eyes were watching his every move. This really was too easy.

"Artie…"

The Angel smiled innocently. "Yes, love?"

"What're…uh…what're you doing?"

Oh, he was so precious when he was nervous. It was too bad that he wasn't doing what Alfred wanted him to do.

His smile when from angelic to demonic. "This." In one swift, fluid movement, he finished unzipping the taller man's coat and proceeded to shove his leftover snowball down the collar of Alfred's shirt so that it broke apart against the skin of his chest, withdrawing his hand again before the American could even register what had happened.

"_Fuck!_" The shout echoed away from them through the trees, probably disturbing the other people in the park as Alfred began frantically pulling at his shirt and shaking himself in an attempt to get rid of the snow. "Damn it, Arthur! That was a dirty trick! Jesus, it's _fucking cold!_"

Arthur couldn't stop laughing. The taller blond just looked so ridiculous that he couldn't help it—he was practically doubled over with laughter and there were tears forming under his eyes. "You should have seen your bloody face! I can't believe you fell for that!"

"Well excuse me for trusting an Ang—!"

"Alfred?"

Both males froze at the sound of the familiar voice, and Alfred slowly turned his head to look in the direction of the speaker; his eyes widened and his jaw went slack.

"I-Ivan?"

Hardly daring to move, Arthur turned and, sure enough, there stood the Russian who had so easily broken his wing all those nights ago. Just seeing those strange eyes made him want to shudder and he had to resist the urge to hide behind Alfred for protection. This was someone he'd been hoping he would never have to see again.

The Russian smiled slightly. "_Da,_ it is me. How are you?"

Alfred didn't look like he knew what to say. "I…I'm good. You know, same as always. Uh, what are you doing here?"

A shy look came into Ivan's eyes and he looked down at his large boots as a pink tinge colored his cheeks. "I am actually on a…a date…"

"A date." Disbelief colored the American's tone and he stared at Ivan as if he'd never seen him before. "With who?"

"No one you know," Ivan assured him with a nervous smile. "I met him at, well," he glanced at Arthur and lowered his gaze again. "At one of my appointments."

"Oh." Alfred's voice went flat—"appointments" was the term Ivan had applied to his meetings with buyers and sellers when he didn't want the blond to know what he was up to. "So you're still doing that, huh. Didn't even bother to clean yourself up before going out and finding someone else to fuck with."

Ivan's brow furrowed and he looked at Alfred pleadingly. "_Nyet!_ I cleaned up, I got help. I swear, it was not that kind of appointment. I met him at my therapist's office."

Therapist? "Really. You're seeing a therapist now."

"_Da._" Earnest now, Ivan took a step towards Alfred only to have the American grab Arthur by the hand and pull the shorter man close protectively. He made a face like it hurt him to see Alfred so distrustful but at the same time like he was resigned to having to accept it. "That night when I followed you home from work, and I met him," he gestured at Arthur vaguely, "I was jealous and angry and I am very sorry for what happened. Please, forgive me. I am not that man anymore."

"I don't believe you!" Alfred snapped, his grip on Arthur almost painfully tight. "You told me over and over that you quit doing drugs, that you quit dealing! You promised me you'd stop drinking almost every other day but it never happened! You're a liar, Ivan, and I don't want anything to do with you!" Turning, he grabbed Arthur's hand. "Let's go, Artie."

"Wait! Alfred!"

Arthur couldn't help it—the man sounded so desperate and broken that his instincts kicked in. Despite Alfred's warning growl, he pulled free of the bespectacled man's grip and turned back to where Ivan still stood. Slowly, cautiously, the Angel approached the tall Russian and peered up at him with concerned green eyes.

"Ivan."

Clearly surprised and not entirely sure what to do or say, Ivan simply looked back at the Angel, silent.

"My name is Arthur, Ivan. You broke my wing, remember?"

The Russian opened his mouth to respond but no sound came out, so he closed it again and nodded once. Guilt darkened his eyes and he couldn't bring himself to meet Arthur's gaze, though he did throw a nervous glance to where Alfred stood nearby, watching in clear disapproval.

"I forgive you, Ivan."

It was silent for several moments as the words sank in, then Ivan lifted his head and looked directly into Arthur's eyes. "…you do?"

A smile softened the Angel's features. "Yes."

"But…why…?"

"Because I'm an Angel, and Angels always know what needs to be done. And because I believe that you're sorry, and I believe that you're seeing a therapist now." He turned to Alfred, still smiling. "I can feel it, Alfred. He isn't lying to you."

His glare still in place, Alfred slowly moved to stand beside the shorter blond. "What made you decide to see a therapist?" he asked gruffly, and Ivan smiled just because the American had chosen to talk to him.

"I couldn't find my way home. It took hours. I hurt an Angel, Alfie. A real Angel." Ivan smiled wistfully. "I didn't want to be the man that hurt an Angel. I threw out all my alcohol and drugs. I moved. No more using or dealing, no more drinking. Now I have AA meetings once a week, and therapy twice a week, and I work for a construction company because I am strong. I met him at my appointment—he is there for therapy, too. We are good for each other."

Relaxing somewhat, the American slipped an arm around Arthur's waist for reassurance, though he didn't dare smile just yet. "And who is he? You said you're here on a date—shouldn't he be with you?"

A shy smile appeared on Ivan's face. "He is getting us cocoa." Turning, he pointed back along the path to where a wheeled cart was stopped. There was a man paying for two cups of cocoa, clothed in dark pants, boots, and a thick coat with a hat pulled down over his ears to protect them from the cold. The three of them, Arthur, Alfred and Ivan, waited silently as the man approached with the cocoa. He stopped beside Ivan and handed him one of the cups before turning kind albeit anxious blue eyes on the two blonds.

"H-hello," he greeted them shyly, offering his hand for them to shake. "I-I'm Toris." Locks of brown hair showed beneath his hat and he was obviously very skinny despite his bulky clothing.

"Alfred." He shook the man's hand, smiling in a friendly way; a look of recognition came into Toris' eyes.

"I've heard about you," he responded, then looked up at Ivan with a shy smile before turning his gaze on Arthur. "Which means y-you're the A-Angel, right?"

Even though he should have been upset that so many humans knew about him, Arthur couldn't find it in himself to be upset that Ivan had told his secret—he already knew he could trust this shy man.

"Yes, I'm Arthur." They shook hands.

"It's v-very nice to m-meet you," Toris said politely, blushing when Ivan put an arm around his shoulders.

"The pleasure's all mine," Arthur responded, green-eyed gaze flicking back and forth between Ivan and Toris. They seemed good together, as Ivan had said.

"Ivan, th-the movie is g-going to start, soon," Toris murmured after taking a sip of his cocoa.

"_Da,_ I know, Tor." The Russian offered a hopeful smile to Alfred and Arthur. "I will see you again, _da?_"

Alfred hesitated before returning the smile, obviously nervous. "Yeah…we'll have to catch up sometime."

It must have been the sort of response that Ivan was hoping for because he smiled broadly and nodded before leading Toris off towards a nearby gate. Green and blue eyes tracked them, watching them until they were out of sight, and then the two blonds looked at each other.

"That was pleasant," Arthur commented.

"Yeah." Alfred didn't seem like he was completely sure about what had just happened. "He looked good, didn't he? Healthy, I mean. Fit. Happy."

There was something in his voice that caught Arthur's attention, a sort of wistfulness that hadn't been there before. And something similar to regret. He could feel it, too, the curiosity and interest rolling off of the taller man, and his blue eyes were looking at him but weren't actually seeing him.

"Yes…he did…"

A sense of dread settled in Arthur's stomach. Dread that Ivan was becoming the man that Alfred had been in love with all that time ago, before the drinking and the drugs. Dread that, now that Ivan was getting better, Alfred's old feelings for him would return.

No, that couldn't happen. Alfred loved _him_, loved Arthur. He'd said it himself, more than once. There was no way he would start to like Ivan again.

"Alfred?" Growing concerned, he touched the blue-eyed man's shoulder. It took a few moments for him to respond—he blinked twice then smiled—which only worried the Angel further.

"Yeah, Artie?"

Hearing the nickname was a relief and Arthur smiled back at the taller blond, shyly taking his hand. "I'm ready to go home."

"I'll make us cocoa when we get there." Using his grip on the Angel's hand to lead him along, Alfred began walking back towards the gate they always used.

Cocoa sounded perfect. Maybe they'd curl up on the couch and watch a movie before Al had to leave for work. Have dinner together, too. Like a couple would.

_Don't think like that. We're not a couple. We're friends._

The warmth of Alfred's hand against his own drew the Angel's attention and he studied the contrast between his pale skin and Al's glove. It was soft, warm due to the hand inside of it. He liked the way it felt, and he remembered his mini fantasy earlier about the way Al's palms felt, but now wasn't the time to think about that, and he pushed the memory back. But he wanted to think about it, wanted to remember. If he forgot what it felt like to be with Alfred, then he wouldn't have anything.

_Just think about having hot cocoa, and watching movies, and cuddling on the couch. And then, when he gets home from work, he'll try to be quiet so that he won't wake you._

Sometimes, the American was quiet enough that Arthur didn't wake up, but he usually woke up at least a little bit when the larger man got into bed. There was too much shifting around to stay asleep, and besides, Alfred gave off so much body heat that it was like being wrapped in a heated blanket every time the man hugged him.

Now they were on their way to have cocoa, and probably watch a movie. Then Alfred would leave for work, and Arthur would shower before going to bed. And then, when Alfred got home from work, that was when they could almost, _almost_ be together the way they both wanted to be.

_He's mine. I don't care how much better Ivan gets. Ivan has Toris, and I have Alfred. No matter what, he's mine._

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Woooo extra long chapter because I didn't have time to update when I was supposed to! *Thumbs up* I hope you enjoyed the sexual frustration that I slipped in there (really I'm just trying to make everyone hate me). Say hi to Ivan and Toris! They're super excited to see you!

In case anyone was wondering, it's really hard to concentrate on writing while your house is full of extended family members and there's a baby and a dog and you have to roadtrip to Colorado Springs and back in three days. BUT I WROTE THE THING. And I hope everyone enjoyed the thing. Hopefully, I'll see you again on Tuesday :)


	24. Chapter 24

"Have a good shift," Arthur murmured, smiling as he was pulled into a warm hug. The scent of the taller man enveloped him and he breathed deeply. "I'll see you when you get home."

Slowly, Alfred released the Angel and placed a light kiss on his forehead. "I'll try not to wake you."

Arthur blushed a little from the kiss but looked up at Alfred through his bangs, meeting those blue eyes. "I won't mind if you wake me up."

That earned a grin from the tall blond, then Alfred waved and was gone, the front door shutting firmly behind him. Arthur was at the window in an instant, watching as the American climbed into Ludwig and Feliciano's waiting car. Luckily, the weather had decided to behave itself for the rest of the evening, though the news said there were supposed to be light flurries in the morning, so Alfred had arranged for a ride. Plus, the low overnight temperatures were dangerous even if it wasn't snowing.

Sighing, Arthur turned and sat on the couch, his legs crossed under him and his hands in his lap. Green eyes surveyed the apartment—what should he do while Alfred was gone? There were so many possibilities. He could watch TV, or read one of Alfred's books. There were movies and videogames—though he doubted he'd be able to play a videogame without the bespectacled man around to help him—and Alfred even had a few old board games, plus the deck of cards they'd been playing with after dinner. Or he could take a nice long bubble bath then go to bed early so that he'd be well-rested for tomorrow.

Come to think of it, a bubble bath sounded lovely. Hot, steamy water, bubbles floating lazily on the surface while he lounged against the side of the tub. He could soak his wing, which would almost certainly feel like heaven on the still-tender appendage. And then he'd be perfectly clean and soft for when Alfred got home—

_Ah, no, don't think about that_, the Angel cautioned himself before his imagination could get too carried away. He didn't mind thinking about it, exactly, but he wasn't proud of how easy it was to imagine being with Alfred.

_If he wasn't so good-looking and sweet, this wouldn't be a problem._

That's what it was. A problem. The American was simply too attractive and sweet and funny for Arthur to ignore.

"This isn't bloody fair."

His face morphing into an expression that was half frown, half pout, Arthur slumped down on the couch and crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. He really shouldn't be complaining—it was incredibly lucky that he'd gotten to meet Alfred at all—but he couldn't help it.

_I can't sit here and mope all night. I should at least do something productive, like see how strong my wing is._

There was little point to that, though, since he'd just tested it the other day, and he really didn't want to push too hard too soon and end up causing himself further injury. His wing was healing well enough and there was little point in testing it again already.

Videogames? Green eyes drifted towards the TV, examining the blank screen with mild interest. No, not videogames or movies or watching TV, and he wasn't really in the mood to read, either. He didn't want to spend his evening lounging on the couch.

"Bubble bath it is, then."

His mind made up, the blond got up off the couch and wandered into the bathroom. The first thing he did was gather the used towels that had been building up for the last week and throw them out the door towards the washing machine; he could run them through the wash while Alfred slept the next morning. Then he turned on the water and began filling the tub, adding in the soap to create a froth of white bubbles.

Humming, he quickly stripped off the clothes he was still wearing from the walk he'd gone on with Alfred, then turned to the mirror.

"Can't very well have a bubble bath without a little mirror writing," he murmured to himself as he climbed up onto the counter. The hard surface was cold against his knees, but he paid it no mind, too busy trying to decide what exactly he wanted to write this time.

A smirk lifted one side of his mouth and he reached out to write with a single finger.

_**Naughty, naughty.**_

It was perfect. Everything about this bath was going to be a bit on the naughty side, so he may as well admit it.

"There's no such thing as an innocent bubble bath when Alfred F. Jones is around," Arthur told his fogged over reflection, "and I'm not complaining."

Still with that smirk in place, he hoped back off the counter then stepped into the bathtub, shivering as the hot water made contact with his skin. It was deliciously warm and smelled of Alfred's amazing body soap—that was where the woodsy scent came from—and he used that to help himself relax.

_You've been a very naughty Angel, Arthur."_

His eyes only partially open, Arthur closed the shower door. It was so easy to imagine that Alfred was there, standing just behind him, whispering dirty things in his ear.

"_Don't you think so, Artie?"_

"Yes…" He imagined work-toughened hands on his shoulders, pulling him back against a warm chest as the water swished around his calves. In his head, he could feel that Alfred was aroused.

"_What did you do that was naughty?" The American's tongue slipped out, rubbing against the shell of Arthur's ear so that the Angel let the smallest of moans escape._

"L-Lied to you…"

"_Oh, naughty Angel," Alfred purred. "Tell me the truth and maybe I'll go easy on your…punishment."_

God, he wanted this to be real.

"I remember what we did," the Angel breathed out, eyes now firmly shut to make his fantasy seem a little more real. "I remember kissing and tasting and touching."

"_But we didn't just _touch,_ Arthur. We did more than that."_

"You fucked me with your fingers."

"_Yeah." Arms wrapped around his waist, the larger man's hands teasingly close to his nether regions. "And you loved it, didn't you."_

"Yes." It was torture, this foreplay his imagination had come up with, but Arthur didn't care.

_Lips ghosted over his neck and the Angel tilted his head to proved better access to the man behind him._

"Alfred…"

"_Do it."_

Arthur frowned, confused. "What?"

"_Touch yourself. Fuck yourself with your fingers just like I did. Make yourself whine and moan and beg for me. But don't come until I tell you to."_

_His face turned dark red at the thought of masturbating in front of Alfred._

"B-but…I…"

_Teeth grazed over his skin and he fell silent. "Do it, Arthur. I wanna hear you scream my name as you come."_

Swallowing thickly, Arthur nodded and stepped forward so he could lean against the shower wall. The damp surface was cold against the skin of his chest, stomach and cheek as he pressed against it—it made his nipples harden.

_Hands settled on his hips. "Slowly, Arthur," came the husky whisper from right next to his ear, "and remember, don't come until I tell you to."_

"Y-yes, Alfred." It came out as a whine and he heard the American's chuckle in his head.

"_Go on, Artie."_

Embarrassed by what the Alfred in his head was making him do, Arthur slowly ran a hand down his own pale chest. His heart thudded beneath his ribs and his breath came in light pants. Yes, he was embarrassed—but he was also aroused.

"_Good boy. Nice and slow."_

That tone sent a shiver through Arthur's body and he let his hand slip past his waist. With one gentle finger, he stroked himself, biting his lip to hold back a soft moan.

"_Tsk, tsk, Arthur. I want to hear you. Stop biting that pretty lip and be loud for me."_

A whine escaped him but Arthur did as he was told. His mouth fell open and he moaned unabashedly as he stroked himself.

"A-Alfred…"

_The American was practically purring. "Yes?"_

"Please…"

"_Please, what?"_

"Touch me," Arthur begged, his voice echoing slightly in the bathroom. Even to himself, he sounded needy and desperate.

_Alfred grinned and let his hands roam over the Angel's body, rubbing and stroking and squeezing everywhere except where Arthur really wanted him to._

"Alfred! You git!"

_That made the American laugh before he licked up the back of petite man's neck. "This is a punishment for lying, Arthur. Did you think you were going to get everything you wanted?"_

His frustration mounting, Alfred let out a growl as he began stroking himself more firmly. To hell with the sadistic Alfred in his head—he was getting his release!

"_Slow down, Arthur."_

The Angel's free hand moved to his chest and he rubbed at the hardened nub he found, imagining with all his might that his soft palm was calloused, that it was Alfred's hand.

"Nn…w-wanker…"

"_I won't take you if you don't do as I say, Artie. Slow down." A kiss was placed just behind his ear as the Angel whined and grudgingly slowed the movement of his hand. "Good. Now, keep stroking yourself—you make such sweet little sounds—but it's time for the rest. Finger yourself."_

Arthur bit his lip. He couldn't help it. Hearing Alfred telling him to finger himself like that nearly drove him mad. Haltingly, he licked his fingers then sent his hand southward, arching his back so that he could reach. It was almost painfully easy to imagine the way that Alfred would hold his hips, grinning that stupid perfect grin, watching as Arthur's fingers searched for his entrance then found it.

"_Be gentle, Artie."_

Yes, of course, otherwise he'd be too sore afterwards. Instinctively, he bit his lip as he prepared to insert his first finger, knowing he would cry out otherwise, then forced himself to stop because he knew the Alfred in his head wouldn't like him to hold back. So he took a deep breath instead.

"Ah! Hah…"

_Damp kisses were placed along his shoulders; he could feel the smile that was curving Alfred's lips. "Such sweet, sweet little sounds you make, Artie."_

"Sh-shut up!"

_Alfred chuckled but didn't say anything, his mouth too busy with biting and sucking on Arthur's neck for him to speak._

Without holding back any of his sounds, the Angel moved his finger, slowly and gently at the same pace that his other hand was stroking the hardened mass between his legs. Then two fingers.

"F-fuck…hng…A-Alfred…!"

"_Scissor them. Slowly."_

He did so, a groan sounding deep in his throat as his hips shifted all on their own. "G-god…Alfred, I h-hate you…"

_Smirking, Alfred chuckled and tilted the Angel's head so that he could kiss him softly. "Liar. You love me, and you love what I'm making you do."_

Arthur couldn't argue with that, but his need for his release was building rapidly so he ignored the orders to go slowly and added his third finger, pumping and twisting. His other hand gripped his erection firmly, rubbing and squeezing and teasing the tip as he panted against the shower wall, his breath creating a foggy spot on the cold tile.

"_So impatient," Alfred whispered teasingly, but he didn't reprimand the Angel or tell him to slow down again. "You're sexy when you're desperate, you know."_

"B-bloody wanker! _Ah!_" He'd found it, that one special spot that made him buck against his own hand as he began working himself frantically. The sounds escaping him increased in volume until he was all but yelling Alfred's name with every other breath. Without a conscious decision to, his wings flared out until they touched then rubbed together so send a shudder down the Angel's spine and ratchet his need for release up another notch.

_Rough hands slid up his sides as his chest heaved; he could barely even think now, his mind was so numbed and overwhelmed by the sheer force of his arousal. It was insanity, this insatiable need for more. More pleasure, more touching and more sounds, harder and deeper and faster and—_

"Alfred!" The name was all but ripped from him as he came, and Arthur barely managed to stay on his feet. His knees were shaking uncontrollably, as was the rest of him, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath as shudders and spasms wracked his fragile-looking body. Over and over, he panted the American's name, leaning heavily on the wall so that he wouldn't fall down.

"_Good boy, Arthur," Alfred whispered in his head, smirking. "You're forgiven."_

The Angel groaned and rested his forehead on the wall, enjoying how cool it was compared to his heated skin, his eyes falling closed. "Bloody git."

X

_What the fuck?_

That was his only reaction, the only thing he could of when he stepped out of the shower. Forehead creasing in confusion, Alfred stared at the mirror and tried to make sense of the words written there. Well, word, technically, repeated so that it was written twice. And it had to have been Arthur that wrote it because who in the hell else would have been in his bathroom?

_That's it. I'm asking him. Even though I promised I would try to keep quiet so I wouldn't wake him up, I'm going to wake him up and ask him. Besides, he said he wouldn't mind if I woke him._

So what if that hadn't been exactly what the Angel meant? Alfred was tired of finding random messages written on the mirror and not knowing what any of them meant. Come to think of it, he'd never asked Arthur what "I'm sorry" had been all about. Now was just going to have to be the time when he asked about the messages.

His mind made up, Alfred tore his gaze away from the mirror and dressed in his pajamas before leaving the bathroom. With soft footsteps, he entered the bedroom and climbed into bed, moving to lie close to the sleeping Angel.

"Artie," he whispered, and touched the petite man's hand. "Wake up."

The Angel stirred slightly, eyes cracking open to peer at Alfred in confusion. "Hm? What…?"'

"Why do you keep writing on the mirror?"

It took a moment for the question to sink in, then Arthur's eyes widened in alarm. "Shit," he muttered, covering his face with his hands and curling up into a ball as if that would cause him to turn invisible.

Silent, Alfred waited for several seconds to see if the Angel was going to do or say anything to explain himself. When Arthur failed to move, the American gently gripped the smaller man's wrists and pulled his hands away from his face so that they were looking each other in the eye.

"I found two of them, Artie. What are you sorry for? And what the hell is "naughty, naughty" supposed to mean?"

The Angel seemed to shrink under his gaze, as if he'd rather disappear forever than answer Alfred's questions.

"I…I…"

He couldn't stand to see Arthur so nervous. Yeah, he wanted to know why the Angel had been writing on the mirror, but he still hated that Arthur looked genuinely afraid. It was never a good thing for Arthur to be afraid. In an attempt to calm the smaller blond, Alfred pulled him against his chest and cuddled him, stroking the back of his head as his other arm wound around the Angel's waist.

"You can tell me. I won't get mad, I promise."

Silence followed his words as he felt Arthur huddling and pressing closer in seek of comfort that he obviously needed.

"You weren't supposed to see them."

The words were muffled but understandable, and Alfred held back a sigh. "Why not?"

"They…they weren't for you."

"But what do they mean? What are you sorry for?"

Arthur bit his lip, hesitating. "I…had a dream about Francis. It made me feel guilty."

All right. Alfred could understand that, at least. "And the second one?"

No answer came this time and for a moment he wondered if the Angel had fallen back asleep all of a sudden, but he could feel Arthur trembling slightly and so knew that the was still awake.

"Artie?"

"It's embarrassing," the Angel mumbled, his face growing warm against the skin of Alfred's shoulder.

Alfred couldn't help but smile a little as he ran his fingers through the Angel's silky-soft hair. "You don't have to be embarrassed, Arthur. I'm not going to get mad or make fun of you or anything like that. I'm just wondering why I come home and shower and find these messages on the mirror."

"I know," Arthur responded quietly, though he didn't sound particularly convinced; Alfred pulled away from the smaller man, putting just enough space between them that he could kiss the Angel's forehead.

"I promise I won't judge you in any way." Sincere, he smiled as he looked into those amazing green eyes. Arthur looked back at him, still biting his lip in a worried fashion that made Alfred want to kiss him right then and there. Soft and sweet to chase away the Angel's fears and make him feel safe. He didn't, of course, because that would probably only upset Arthur even further.

Several moments passed before Arthur finally started to relax and nodded. "Okay."

A smile brightened Alfred's features and he rested his forehead against the other man's in an affectionate sort of way. "So, what did you mean by 'naughty, naughty'?"

"I…" Arthur's cheeks were quickly turning a dark shade of red, "I was…um…"

There were so many possibilities as to why Arthur had chosen to write "naughty" on the mirror that Alfred kept his mouth shut jus to avoid saying the wrong thing. He really had no interest in making this harder for the Angel and could only imagine how awkward he would feel if someone was asking _him_ about this.

"You were…what?" the blue-eyed man encouraged, his smile still in place.

Arthur hesitated again, fidgeting with the blanket that covered them both, then hid his face in Alfred's shoulder. "I was aroused."

Ah-_hah!_ He'd been right!

"So…why'd you write it on the mirror?"

"You know why!" Arthur burst out, though his voiced was muffled again because of how close together they were.

Yeah, Alfred knew. It was way too easy to imagine what sort of things had been running through the Angel's mind while he wrote that simple yet provocative message. But he didn't say any of the things he was thinking of. Instead, he placed another kiss on Arthur's forehead then hugged him comfortingly.

"I get it. You don't have to be embarrassed, 'kay? I don't care, as long as you don't make a mess or anything like that. It's not like you could help it."

That seemed to relax the Angel a great deal because he nodded before snuggling into Al's chest, and within moments he was fast asleep once more.

"Good night, Artie," Alfred whispered, smiling fondly as he held the Angel close. It wouldn't be long before he'd drift off, too, and he had the feeling that he was going to sleep pretty well.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Aaaaand it's late! But it's here. So I hope you enjoyed it (even though it gave me as stupid lot of trouble, and I've been dozing on and off for the last half page or so. Anyway, here it is and I hope it was worth the wait!


	25. Chapter 25

He didn't want to move. He was too comfortable, too warm and content to move. It would have been perfect to lay there forever.

_Could be better…if he was awake…_

Yes, but it was too early for Alfred to be up. It was only about nine in the morning, after all, so the blue-eyed man would be asleep for around four more hours. Which meant that Arthur had four more hours to dedicate to spending as much time with Alfred as possible.

First, however, there was two things the Angel wanted to take care of.

Moving carefully, he disentangled himself from Alfred's embrace and slipped out of bed. On his tiptoes and without bothering to get clean clothes, the Angel left the bedroom and went straight to the pile of towels sitting by the washing machine. This was going to be tricky. Even though he'd seen Alfred do this more than once since he'd first arrived at the human's apartment, he had never started the machine on his own. An investigation found instructions on the inside of the lid, which he read through twice before actually following them.

First, distribute the load evenly in the machine—towels, check. Second, measure out the proper amount of detergent. That took him a while to figure out. How was he supposed to know how much…detergent…to put in? He didn't even know what detergent was. He did, however, remember seeing Alfred take a large jug of some blue liquid out of the cupboard, so he found that jug and discovered that the lid was also used as a measuring cup.

"How do humans come up with these things?" It was actually a little brilliant, and he carefully poured the blue liquid into the cup to the "Medium Load" line.

The third step was to pour the detergent on top of the load, which was definitely the easiest part. He was supposed to close the lid after that, but he made sure to look over the last few steps about the machine settings before he did that. Then it was just a matter of twisting the large knobs and pushing a button; with a shudder, the machine came to life, and Arthur smiled in pride that he'd managed to do it by himself without destroying anything. That was the last thing he wanted, was to destroy one of Alfred's things.

Satisfied with his success, he wandered into the kitchen for some breakfast, though he wasn't hungry enough to actually cook something for himself. Unfortunately, the winter season meant there was no fresh fruit in the fridge, so he ended up making toast with butter. The toaster, at least, was something that Alfred had taught him how to use, though it still made him jump a little when the bread suddenly sprang up.

So he sat at the table and munched on his toast, sensitive ears picking up each and every sound in this seemingly silent winter-locked apartment. He could hear kids playing outside, probably having a snowball fight—the sounds of their laughter was enough to bring a smile to his lips. Far more sounds came from within the apartment, like the constant hum of the refrigerator. Soft _ticks_ came from the clock on the living room wall. Of course, he could also hear the washing machine with its load of towels swishing in soapy water. His own chewing and the crunch of his toast were definitely the loudest sounds, but his attention was drawn to something else.

In the silence, Arthur only had to tilt his head and concentrate in order to hear Alfred breathing in the bedroom. They were slow, deep breaths, steady and strong. It was easy to imagine how the American's chest rose and fell, and though he couldn't quite hear Alfred's heartbeat, he knew the _ba-bump_ would be there if he were to press his ear to the larger man's chest. That was something he could always count on.

Once his toast was gone, the Angel cleaned up after himself just the way he'd been doing ever since he figured out the sink and where the dishes were supposed to go. This process felt tedious after living in heaven and using magic for so long, but it reminded him of housekeeping and chores from before his time as an Angel. Not having magic was kind of…nice.

His few dishes only took a couple minutes to wash and put away, and when he left the kitchen, it was just as clean as when he'd first entered it that day. Content with his breakfast and still proud of his success of washing the towels, Arthur moved to stand in the doorway of the bedroom. Alfred's sleeping form was a visible lump on the bed, wrapped in the blankets. It seemed he'd rolled over since Arthur got up, so his back was to the door. One shoulder was uncovered, a piece of flawless sun-kissed skin that Arthur found to be rather inviting.

The Angel moved silently, crossing the room and climbing onto the bed. He sat beside the slumbering American, green eyes locked on that shoulder. Slowly, slowly, he leaned closer and placed a feather-light kiss on the warm flesh, and his eyes fell closed as he pulled away again.

If only he could do that every morning for the rest of eternity.

A longing sigh escaped him and he lay down, slipping under the blankets before wrapping his arms around Alfred's middle and burying his face in the American's back. He could feel the taller man breathing, felt his heartbeat vibrate through his entire frame. This, this right here, was as close to perfect as Arthur thought he could get.

"Love you, Alfie," he mumbled into the blankets, arm's tightening just a little. "Always."

When Alfred woke, he was pleasantly surprised to find that he wasn't alone in his bed. He'd gotten used to the routine of coming home to a sleeping Arthur, going to bed, and waking up to a brunch prepared by the Angel. It was nice to not have to cook all the time, though if he had to choose, he'd take waking up next to the petite man over food any day.

As carefully as he could, he turned in the Angel's arms until he was face-to-face with him. He looked so peaceful while he was asleep, as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with the world. Lifting a hand, he brushed golden bangs away from a pale face and kissed the petite man's forehead. A breath against his neck made him pull away to find green eyes looking up at him.

"Hey," he whispered, smiling.

"Morning," the Angel replied softly. "How'd you sleep?"

"Fine. You?" Still with his smile in place, he slipped his arms around the smaller male and held him close, staring into his eyes.

A blush colored the Angel's cheeks to feel himself being pressed up against Alfred. "Well enough."

They were quiet as they looked at each other, examining every detail of the others' face.

He'd never noticed before that there were little marks on the bridge of Alfred's nose from where his glasses sat. They were small, barely noticeable, but he wanted to touch them and see if he could rub them away. He wanted to memorize the different shades of blue in the American's eyes, run his hand through the ash blond hair and feel it slide between his fingers, thick and soft. Alfred's lips beckoned for a kiss, promised to be gentle and loving and to sweetly whisper things that no one else should ever hear.

If only that was true.

Had Arthur's lips always been that shade of pale pink? It was almost the exact same color as the blush that was still visible, perfect against the creamy color of his skin. God, he was flawless. Even the scars that Alfred knew the Angel bore were beautiful. Nothing could take away from how perfect he was in Alfred's eyes. He was so small, so delicate and deceptively slender. That only made how strong he was that much better, though. As fragile as Arthur appeared to be, Alfred saw strength in the set of his jaw, the way he carried himself, and in those eyes that put emeralds to shame. Yes, Arthur was beautiful, but he was so much more than that. He was also fiercely protective, loyal, forgiving and loving and funny, smart—no, brilliant—and…everything. He was everything.

_Sap,_ Alfred accused himself, but there was no bite to it. Yes, he was a sap, but he was also in love with this perfect Angel who glowed even in the darkness of the bedroom. The glow wasn't usually very noticeable; it was faint and didn't stand out. At this moment, though, lying so close to him in the gloom, his glow seemed stronger than ever.

"You're beautiful," the American breathed as he placed a hand on Arthur's face and stroked one pale cheek with his thumb. Arthur's blush darkened at the word and Al could feel the heat of it against his hand, which only made him smile fondly.

"Am not," came the mumbled reply as Arthur lowered his gaze shyly, and Alfred chuckled before kissing the Angel's nose.

"You are."

The Angel shook his head, face growing even warmer as he attempted to hide the blush by pulling the blankets up to cover his head. Laughing, Alfred allowed the smaller man to do so only because it gave him the opportunity to wrap Arthur up and hug him tightly.

"You're beautiful and nothing will ever convince me that you're not," he whispered, putting his mouth by where he knew Arthur's ear was.

"Sh-shut up, wanker." The response was mumbled but he knew Arthur was smiling as he said it, because despite all his protests, he knew the Angel enjoyed the compliment.

"Make me." His tone was playful as he squeezed the man in his arms, and he chuckled when Arthur sputtered an incoherent response. "What was that?"

"You're crushing my wings!"

Immediately, Alfred let go of the smaller man and pulled the blankets away from him, fearful that he'd hurt the Angel. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?" Before he could take a breath to ask another question, Arthur lunged at him and pinned him back on the bed.

_Ohhhhhh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit._

It was kind of impressive how quickly his mind went to the gutter, though it wasn't surprising considering that Arthur was now holding his wrists down by his head while straddling his waist. And, as always, he was wearing those damned boxers that barely managed to cling to his hips tight enough not to fall down. They were patterned as the American flag, which made Al want to laugh because the Angel had been British during his life and so the boxers were sort of ironic. Alfred kind of liked it, though.

"You're a bit gullible, aren't you." The Angel was grinning, his hair mussed from having the blanket over his head. It was a struggle not to smirk and say something sexual or teasing, especially considering his current…position.

Hiding his sudden almost-aroused state, Alfred rolled his eyes. "Well excuse me for trusting an Angel. Sort of figured you guys had to be honest or something like that."

Arthur chuckled and shifted a little, seeming unaware of what that slight friction did to the American beneath him. "Honesty isn't exactly in the job description. It's not a requirement, either."

_Don't do that! Don't move! Ah…shit…how do I…? What am I supposed to do!?_

This was not good. This was the opposite of good. If Arthur moved again then Al wasn't going to be able to help it and then Arthur would get pissed. That wouldn't end well for anyone.

"Then what exactly do Angels _do?_ If you're not pure, honest beings or whatever."

Releasing the American's wrists, Arthur crossed his arms over Alfred's chest and rested his chin on them so that he was essentially lying on top of him while still straddling his hips. It was a conflict for Alfred; he couldn't decide if he liked this situation or not, though he knew it probably wasn't a good one.

"I shouldn't tell you."

"Why not?"

Green eyes rolled. "Because humans aren't supposed to know, you git."

"C'mon, Artie, who am I gonna tell?" He put on the best puppy eyes he could manage, looking up at the Angel pleadingly.

For a moment, Arthur stared back at him musingly. "We save you."

"Me?"

"Humans. We save you. Children, mostly, though we save adults, too. But adults are tricky, so there's a special group of Angels that are assigned to adults. I only work with children."

"Oh." The temptation to shift and get more comfortable was strong but he resisted with everything he had, distracting himself by lacing his hands behind his head and using them as a pillow. "So that's why you got struck by lightning. You were here to save some kid and didn't make it back to heaven."

A sadness came over him and Arthur turned his face away, his cheek resting on his arms. "Yeah."

In an attempt to comfort the petite blond, Alfred took one hand from under his head and ran it through the blond's hair. "I'm glad I met you, Artie. Even though you got struck by lightning, and then Ivan hurt you, and you miss your friends and your home, I'm glad I'm the one who found you in that alleyway."

The smallest of smiles made an appearance as Arthur looked back at Alfred. "Me, too." He hesitated for a moment, green eyes clouded by a swirling mixture of emotions, before he slowly started to lean closer. And closer.

_Is he gonna kiss me? No, no way. He doesn't remember. Definitely not gonna kiss me. There's no way he's—_

Blue eyes went wide as Arthur's fingers curled against his chest and soft lips pressed against his own. The Angel's eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed pink. When Alfred didn't move or return the kiss, Arthur opened his eyes slightly and pulled away.

"Please, Alfred," he whispered, sounding as if he might shatter at any moment.

There was no way.

Alfred hesitated. He blinked several times, hardly daring to believe that the Angel was serious. "You…you mean…?"

Nodding, Arthur pressed even closer to the taller blond and closed his eyes. This time, Alfred didn't hesitate. His hand stilled on the back of the Angel's head and he used it to pull Arthur closer, kissing him softly. Instantly, Arthur's hands left where they were curled against his chest and slid up until his arms were wrapped around the American's neck so he could pull himself even closer to him. Alfred's arms went around the Angel's waist, forcing him to move his hips to create friction; a soft whine escaped the petite blond.

"A-Alfie…"

"Shut up." Rolling, Alfred pinned the smaller man beneath him and kissed him more fully, though he stayed gentle. Hands tangled in his hair and a knee was hooked over his hip as Arthur tried to pull him closer, tried to get more contact, and Alfred readily obliged. His hand slid up the Angel's side, making the smaller man arch and gasp so that Al could take the opportunity to deepen the kiss. The taste he'd been craving for days was finally his again and he let Arthur's name out on a sigh, pressing his forehead to the Angel's and staring deep into his eyes. Arthur's face was a deep red color and he was panting lightly, looking up at Alfred through the bangs that had fallen over his eyes.

"God…you really are beautiful…"

The Angel's blush darkened even further and he looked down shyly until Al tilted his chin up and kissed him softly.

"And you're adorable when you're embarrassed."

"Git," Arthur muttered, though he made no move to pull away or put space between himself and Alfred.

Chuckling, Alfred kissed him again, his hand sliding from the smaller man's chin to cup his cheek as Arthur willingly granted entrance to his mouth. They kissed for several minutes, holding each other close, until they both had to break away in order to breathe. Once again, Alfred found himself staring into those eyes as if nothing else existed anymore.

"Artie…"

"Yes?"

"I don't understand. I'm not complaining, but…why…?"

Uncomfortable now, Arthur hid his face in the taller man's shoulder. "Because I love you."

Alfred couldn't help but smile. After thinking for days that the Angel had no recognition of his feelings, Arthur had, fully awake and sober, admitted to loving him.

"I love you, too."

He smiled and hugged the Angel, being careful of his wings as Arthur snuggled against his chest. This was bliss, this was all he was ever going to need, was Arthur being open and honest with him, and being close to the Angel without worrying about giving himself away. No more worrying about hiding how attracted he was to him, or pretending that he was okay with the thought of Arthur leaving and going back to heaven. None of that mattered anymore because now he knew for absolutely certain that Arthur loved him.

"Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm hungry."

A chuckle escaped him and Al ran a hand up the Angel's back, making him shift a little closer. "We have to get out of bed if we're gonna eat."

The Angel gave a disgruntled moan and pulled the blankets over his head once more; Alfred laughed and sat up.

"All right, you stay here and be lazy. I'll make brunch them come get you, 'kay?"

Without uncovering his head, Arthur nodded his agreement to the proposition and Alfred leaned down to kiss the cloth-covered Angel's face before he got off the bed. He whistled as he walked into the kitchen and began pulling out everything he'd need to make a meal for the two of them.

The two of them. Perfect.


End file.
